


Hope in the Shucking Maze

by CaptainKenway



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: But the first story arc is completed so, Gen, Incomplete, sorry - Freeform, will never finish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKenway/pseuds/CaptainKenway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Glade has always been filled with obstacles. This series focuses on the Gladers before Thomas' infamous arrival. Alby, Minho, and Newt-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Start of Something New

He curled against a tree, briskly rubbing his hands over his arm in a futile attempt to warm up. This… _place_ was hell.

He remembered nothing before the loud, metallic clang jerked him out of his foggy dreams. His disorientation transformed to panic when he took in the metal box, the floor gleaming from the few patches of sun that managed to filter through the top. He banged his shin against a wooden container during his scramble to escape, letting the metal door clang behind him as he took in his surroundings. He panted as he stared at the huge walls and expanse of forest.

“Is anybody here?” he yelled.

His echoes were his only response.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Is someone out there?”

He gulped.

No one was here.

He was alone in this hellhole.

Sweat poured down his face, his eyes flickering around the clearing. He couldn’t be alone. He can’t be alone. Not…here. Not in this foreign place.

He quickly caught sight of a gaping opening between the walls. His heart pounded. _Maybe…_

He sprinted towards the opening, towards the only thing that offered escape from this glade. He had been in this hellhole for all of five minutes, but already the overwhelming desire to leave thrummed through him. The gapping opening grew bigger as he drew closer, the walls leering down at him. He slowed down to a walk as he cautiously approached the towering walls. They stretched on forever.

He forced himself to move forward.

He peered down dank path, ignoring the cold sweat that broke out. He bit his lip and fought his initial instinct to flee. Flee and return to the forest. He glanced back and took a hesitant step backwards. The forest behind him was suddenly a lot cheerier.

_Stop it._

His deep breath echoed off the walls.

He took a tentative step toward the enveloping darkness. He squinted as his eyes slowly adjusted to the murkiness and continued forward at his wary pace. His foot scuffed the ground as he took in his surroundings, eyeing the walls warily. He stopped. The path diverged into two. He frowned down the left path. _What was the point of this?_

He looked up, the pink sky visible above the walls. Loosening his clenched fists, he took a tentative step to the left. He needed to get out of here. The clearing did not lead to escape. This path did.

His head snapped up as a loud groan vibrated down the wall.

He whipped around and gaped at the closing walls. He froze, staring in rising horror as the wall slowly closed the gap, the forest disappearing from view.

“Shhh—uck!” He swore. He didn’t hesitate. He ran back towards the glade like his life depended on it, which it could for all he knew.

He was safely by a pine tree near the outskirts of the forest when the wall sealed itself shut with a final slam. The groans and metallic hisses from behind the wall made him glance around the clearing uneasily. It was growing dark. He knew logically he should do something, but the resounding silence from the glade mocked him while the walls loomed imperiously over him.

A shrill scream rose from the behind the walls. He collapsed next to the tree. Another scream followed. He clamped his eyes shut and curled into himself.

He was not moving from this spot. What could he do now that would make a shucking difference anyway? He frowned momentarily at the unfamiliar word, but shrugged. The word fit.

Another shrill whistle pierced the air. He moved closer to the pine tree. _Shuck_.

And this is how he found himself huddled by a tree, valiantly trying to warm up in the middle of the night. He had managed to relax his body throughout the night. He had gotten used to the constant creaking and groaning from the walls. He couldn’t restrain his flinches every time a whistle or scream broke the relative silence. A shiver ran through him. He did not want to meet the source of those sounds. He swallowed. At least the walls were sealed shut.

He took a deep breath and forced his mind to other things. The moon stared down at him glumly. Assuming he had a previous life, he had absolutely no knowledge of before: No family, no childhood memories, he didn’t even know his name. He fought back a growl. He didn’t even know his own name. He pursed his lips bitterly. Somehow this was the cruelest punishment. He knew basic knowledge, but not his name. He knew that trees were clearly called trees, trees could be used to make fire with a certain technique that was currently out of his abilities, he knew that the sounds behind the wall were unnatural, and he even knew how to tell time with the sun. But he knew nothing about himself or this place.

This entire situation was a shuck-fest. What was the point of him being here? What was he supposed to accomplish?

All he knew was that the metal box brought him up to this place and—he frowned.

He had yet to return to the metal box. He rubbed his shin absently in memory of slamming into a wooden box. The metal box had supplies in it.

He squinted towards the box and sighed when he saw it was still open. He quickly made his way towards the box. There was no telling how long the box would remain in the glade.

His eyes had long since adjusted to the moonlight, but he still stopped by the edge of the box. He peered down in the darkness suspiciously. His paranoia was on edge. He didn’t trust anything about this place. He should just wait till morning to look inside the box.

_But…_

He glared into the box. He couldn’t risk the potential supplies disappearing overnight.

_Shuck it._

He jumped into the dark abyss.

His boots rattled the box. He drew in a deep breath as he stretched his arms to find a supply box. The moon offered the bare minimum of light down here. He cautiously grasped at a wooden box. After confirming that it was just a box and nothing threatening, he strengthened his hold and headed back towards the moonlit opening. He continued this process for two more boxes. After blindly searching the metal box, he figured he moved all the potential supplies up to the glade. He scrambled through the opening of the box lid with a relieved sigh, shutting the lid behind him carelessly.

He peered at his finds. Now that he was in the open, he could actually examine the supplies.

A sharp clang made him jump.

He stared down, his heart hammering, at the box. The metal box vanished into a deep tunnel, a dull roar announcing its retreat. He let out a shaky breath. He glanced at the wooden boxes, incredibly grateful he retrieved them before the box disappeared. Who knows how he would have fared without them. He moved the supplies back by his tree, anxious to be away from where the Box disappeared.

He would go through the supplies tomorrow. Tomorrow when it was bright and everything lost its sinister edge. He glanced at the walls. Not that everything would be less intimidating in the morning.

He glared over at the Box’s hole in sudden fury. Who did they think they were? Putting him in the middle of shucking _nowhere_ with absolutely no way to survive?

He wanted to punch something.

Instead tears rolled down his face.

He angrily brushed them away but more continued streaming down.

A sob wracked through his chest. He clutched the pine tree in support.

This isn’t shucking fair. He’s just a kid. Probably.

He collapsed next to his tree, a sob rattling his ribcage. He didn’t even know how _old_ he was. What his _name_ was. What type of person didn’t know a key part of their identity?

He punched the ground.

Why didn’t he _know_ anything shucking useful? Why did this—Alby.

He gasped for breath.

Tears streamed down his face. His name was Alby.

He hiccuped. _Alby_.

His name was Alby.

“Alby.”

He liked how that sounded.

Alby let a soft smile on his face. Alby.

He leaned against his tree, the morning sun peeking above the walls. First thing first, he was making shelter. His stomach rumbled loudly. Or he was getting food. His eyes drifted towards the supplies, already spying some food from where the lid had been pried open.

Alby wouldn’t let himself die here. He needed to survive. 


	2. What I've Been Looking For

Alby retied his hammock to his pine tree. He built the hammock using some canvas he found in one of the boxes. It turned out better than he anticipated. Of course, his hammock was constantly falling down. Less so now, but that didn’t stop Alby from craving a bed surrounded by walls and a ceiling and not hanging from a tree.

Not that his tree was to blame for his hammock problem. The pine was sturdy. His knots that held up the hammock were a different story. The knots rarely lasted more than a few days, probably due to both his skill and flimsy, makeshift rope. His survival skills as a whole were subpar. If the supplies hadn’t been in the Box…He pursed his lips at the steadily diminishing food. The Box had been returning weekly with a random assortment of supplies. However, in the last two returns, the Box hadn’t contained any food. He glanced at his dwindling food supply. Even with his rations, he only had a random assortment of raw vegetables and some salted meats.

He gnawed his lip. Food was constantly on his mind. There were no food sources in the Glade, except for some plants that had the potential to be poisonous. He picked some berries his first week here. He didn’t die. He became severely sick and spent the next few days curled next to his tree and clutching it in support. He may have also named the pine Jujuba during his fever. He felt he was excused. Being a sickly, lonesome person excused most actions. But at least he wasn’t dead. Yet.

He was, however, extremely put off from testing unknown plants. Alby had been hoping that a previously forgotten skill would come to him overnight.

No luck.

Alby could barely manage a fire and salvaging food was out of his area of expertise. He knew that seeds grew plants, obviously. He even attempted to grow a miniature garden. He had no idea if the seeds took. He planted them at the end of his second week, but there was no sign of life. He bit off a groan. He wasted that food for nothing.

The Glade had one stream. One fishless stream. Alby had thoroughly explored the Glade and could confidently say that no animal life existed except for the random red beetles. His gaze shifted towards the Maze, not that he knew much about the Maze except that it was a maze. His Maze exploration had been lacking. He never went more than a few minutes away from the opening. There was a slight possibility that the Maze contained animals, but if those animals were the source of the screams at night, Alby was more than happy to keep his distance.

He didn’t care if it was cowardly to avoid the Maze. He’ll work his way out there.

He patted his tree after giving his knot a satisfied tug. He glanced at a pile of logs nearby. One of the tools that the Box supplied was a hatchet. He originally cut off a few branches to test his fire-making abilities. He was better now than when he first started. Not that that was saying much. However, for the past six days he had a new task in mind: attempting to construct a livable structure that wouldn’t collapse on him overnight. He would get the hang of it. Eventually.

His last basic design failed. To be fair, all of his last designs failed, even his tipi fell apart. He had nothing to keep the logs in place besides mud and his makeshift rope. But, like many things, Alby knew shit about making rope. So the skinned tree bark rope he used probably did more to reassure his mentality that the shelter would hold rather than actually reinforce the shelter.

The sun was high in the sky while Alby wrestled the logs in place. The shelter he managed to build so far didn’t immediately roll away and fall apart, which he considered a success, but didn’t have a roof. Also there were a lot of gaps in the wall. The sun glared in his eyes as he surveyed his shelter. He was close enough to Jujuba that the branches offered some protection from the sun. It would be shucking useless against the rain, but Alby had been here for thirty days and there had been absolutely no rain. He used water from the stream to water his garden. A large leaf he found had been his substitute bucket. It wasn’t the most effective method, but it worked. Or possibly it didn’t. His garden still had yet to resemble anything besides dirt. But if there was no rain, was a roof really necessary?

A shrill bell rang echoed across the Glade.

Alby jerked away from his shelter. The bells still managed to scare him. At least now he was used to their jarring announcement. He nearly clunked his pants the first time the Box reappeared. Alby gripped his hatchet and wandered towards the Box. Despite the routine Box arrivals, the Glade was never to be trusted.

He studied the Box for a moment longer before spying some supply boxes. He squinted, but couldn’t identify if the boxes contained food or possibly more canvas. He didn’t know what they wanted him to make, but he had a shuckton of canvas. He spied a hoe. Alby smiled and swung the lid open.

A fist flew through the air and struck Alby hard across the face. Alby flailed and sprawled on the ground as a blur shot out of the Box. A boy went into a defensive stance. Alby gawked at the glaring boy. His heart thumped. Someone else was here. Alby took in the newcomer’s tan skin and dark hair. He wasn’t alone.

Alby gasped as a foot connected to his kidney, brutally tearing him from his thoughts. Tears sprung to his eyes as he grasped towards the flurrying limbs. His fingers connected to something.

He yanked.

A slam and a grunt soon followed. Alby rolled over to tightly grip the newcomer.

“Who they shuck are you?” Alby wheezed.

The boy narrowed his eyes at Alby and effortlessly pushed Alby off him. He opened his mouth and froze.

Alby dropped his clenched fists, looking down at the boy awkwardly. “You don’t know your name do you?”

The black-haired boy’s gawk quickly turned back into a glare.

“I didn’t know my name either when I first got here,” Alby offered. “Wherever ‘here’ is…”

The newcomer’s eyes widened. His gaze flinted briefly at Alby’s makeshift shelter, but focused on the large expanse of walls. Wordlessly, the boy began walking towards them.

Alby caught the boy’s arm on reflex. “You can’t go out there.”

The boy snorted and yanked his arm away.

“You’ll die. You can’t die. You just got here,” Alby protested, keeping pace with the new boy. He can’t let the boy die. He can’t be alone again. The boy had to trust him. His brow furrowed. No telling how he would have reacted if him and the new boy switched places. “The inside is a giant maze. The walls close at night. You do not want to be in the Maze at night, trust me.”

“What happens at night?” the boy mumbled. Was that a slight tremor in his voice? Good.

Alby stopped in front of the boy. “You’ll hear after the sun goes down. Trust me. You want to be in the Glade at night. If you want to check out the Maze tomorrow, be my guest. But you’re not going anywhere today.”

“You think just because you were already here, you can order me around?” the boy snapped. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not going to sit here and turn this place into a home. I’m leaving. And I’m leaving now.”

Alby bristled as the boy brushed by him. “You think that I _want_ to be here? You think that I’ve been sitting here for a month, twiddling my thumbs? I want to survive. If the Maze is so easy to solve, do you think I would still be here? You want to ignore my advice, greenie? Then your death is not on my shucking conscience. You know nothing. Don’t look down on me just because you’re a stubborn shuckface. Go ahead. Die. See if I care. They’ll send another boy up eventually. He’ll probably actually want to survive this place.” Alby turned and stalked away.

Alby didn’t look back until he reached Jujuba. The boy was standing in front of the opening, looking miniscule next to the looming walls. Alby played with his hatchet nervously. He had been hoping that his reverse psychology would cow the newcomer. He glanced back at the north opening again. The black-haired boy vanished.

He whacked a nearby log with his hatchet.

First human contact he had and he let the boy get killed.

Great track record so far.

He ran fingers through his hair, pacing around his pine tree. He could go after the black-haired boy. He couldn’t have gotten far in the Maze. He grimaced at the grass. Except the Maze had stone floor and Alby couldn’t track on dirt, let alone stone. Alby could listen for the greenie. The Maze tunnels amplified sound, many nights in the Glade proved that. He frowned. How noisy would the silent boy be?

Alby sighed against the pine. He shouldn’t go into the Maze. It was getting dark and the Walls would close soon. It was too risky for him to attempt to save the new boy. He swallowed back bile. It wasn’t worth throwing his life away for a boy that didn’t heed his warnings. He closed his eyes, attempting to will away his self-loathing.

He forced himself to move on.

Alby opened his eyes and immediately grimaced at his handiwork. The hatchet went deeper into the wood than expected, which he supposed was a good sign. Alby’s eyes drifted to the Box. He needed to unload the supplies. The Box didn’t leave until all the supplies were taken. It was both convenient and terrifying. He used the disappearing light to unload the fresh supplies and place them neatly around Jujuba. Alby busied himself by gathering the shorter pieces of wood next to his pine tree and stacking them together in his fire pit. He concentrated on making a fire, ignoring the groan of the Walls as they slammed shut for the night.

He inspected the new supplies under the flickering light of the fresh flames. There were more tools and Alby was oddly pleased to find a bucket, but nothing exceptional caught his eye.

He rolled the bucket towards him and stopped as something spilled out. Rope. Alby grinned. Rope would solve some of his reoccurring problems. He could tie his hammock up, reinforce his shelter, use it as a marker in the Maze…

“You’re really excited about rope, Alby,” the new boy said, arching his eyebrow at him.

Alby jerked. “You’re back.”

“I didn’t actually go anywhere,” the boy shrugged, “not in the Maze, at least. I thought I’d give it some time before I went out there.”

Alby grinned. “Good choice. Glad I could help.”

The new boy scoffed. “Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Wait. How did you know my name?”

“Shot in the dark,” the new boy said. Alby frowned at the new boy. “Unless there’s another Alby around here that carved their name in the Wall.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” Alby said sheepishly.

The boy’s face remained expressionless. “Yes that. And you try to come off as so clever. Forgetting that people could read, getting excited over rope…”

“You’d get excited over rope if you’ve been wanting it for weeks and trying to make rope out of shucking tree bark.”

“Why didn’t you just make rope out of canvases? You have plenty.”

Alby pursed his lips at him. The new boy gave a small smile.

“And what does ‘shuck’ mean?”

“Shuck if I know.”

“You’re not helpful.”

“I’m not trying to be shucking helpful, shuckface.”

“You realize I’m the only other person you have to talk to around here.”

“You realize that I’ve been here for a month and you need me to survive around here, greenie.”

The new boy examined Alby’s rickety shelter and his fallen hammock. Alby fought the rising heat of embarrassment. The new boy leaned over and briskly tied the hammock to the tree. Alby leaned forward to frown at the knot the new kid used. The boy tugged out the makeshift rope harshly. The new knot stayed.

“I think our relationship can be mutually beneficial,” the boy said, “and don’t call me ‘greenie.’”

Alby glanced at the knot. “You tying a knot doesn’t make you god. As soon as you tell me your name, you’ll stop being ‘greenie,’ greenie.”

“My name is Minho, shuckface.”

Alby spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the Glade.”


	3. Work This Out

Minho sighed as he surveyed the forest floor. Alby wanted to expand their shack. Of course, Alby did bring up a good point about other Gladers eventually joining them hence the expansion of said shack, but Minho regretted cutting his run short in order to help Alby.

His days were becoming routine. Wake up, garden, explore the Maze for a few hours, eat, return, tell Alby if he found anything—spoiler: he never did, try to craft tools, attempt to make a fire, talk briefly with Alby, eat, sleep. Alby didn’t like the Maze, which Minho supposed he could respect. If the coward didn’t want to leave his safety nest then who was Minho to stop him? It was obvious Alby would have preferred for Minho to adopt his own habits and also avoid the Maze, but Minho actually wanted to leave this shucking place. After a few days of his explorations, Minho discovered the Maze changed each night—some of the nightly noises now made sense—which was already more than what Alby figured out during his month alone.

Honestly, Minho wasn’t sure what Alby accomplished in the Glade before he arrived. He knew Alby started the garden and a rickety shelter. But that was about it. At least Alby didn’t try to order the other Glader around besides adamantly refusing to let Minho eat some berries he found in the forest. Which was irritating. Not that Minho knew much about foraging plants, but he was trying and Alby should be more appreciative. Alby didn’t bring a whole lot to the table, in all honesty. Yes, Alby tended to the garden and made the Glade more livable while Minho was running, but Minho was a huge advocator of focusing their efforts more on actually escaping than building a settlement. Minho could already navigate the Maze with ease during end of his second week—the patterns were repeating, Minho was sure of it—just imagine the progress they would make if Alby ran the Maze too. Minho needed all the help he could get. Minho kicked at the dirt as he gathered smaller logs. He would have to run the Maze for more than few hours if he wanted any hope in actually solving the thing. Alby would not react well to that.

Alby and Minho didn’t talk much. Alby did whatever Alby did and Minho tried to solve the Maze. Of course, the Maze was huge. Alby attempted to talk to Minho more after his initial appearance, but his excitement died down with Minho’s insistence to explore the Maze. Minho frowned as he studied his armful of wood. His general avoidance of the other Glader might also have something to do with it, he supposed. He just didn’t understand Alby. Alby wanted to leave as much as him, except he refused to leave his little safe haven.

He trekked back towards their shack, spying Alby leaning against the pine tree.

“Get all the wood?” Minho asked in greeting. Alby nodded, gesturing towards the huge pile next to him. Minho laid his wood next to it, ignoring how measly it looked in comparison. “How big were you planning on making it?”

“Enough to fit at least ten people, I think,” Alby said, shifting from his position to grab a log.

Minho frowned. Alby theorized that a new boy was brought up every thirty days. “How long do you plan on being here?”

Alby glanced up at him. “It’s better to be prepared.”

“Is it? Do you even want to leave this place?”

“And why would I want to stay?”

“Sorry, how many times have you left the Glade?”

Alby’s eyes flashed. “I did go into the Maze when you weren’t here.”

“And you never found out the Maze changed? Are you a liar or just that stupid?”

Alby dropped the log to the ground. “What’s your problem?”

“ _You_ are my problem. You want to leave? Try contributing every once in a while.”

“Who do you think repairs the shack, supplies food, and taught you how to make a shucking fire? I may not be out in the Maze, but don’t think for a second that means I’m not contributing.”

“You’re _not_ contributing,” Minho snapped. “Do you know how huge the Maze is? I run three hours a day and get _nowhere_. I’m already going to have to run the Maze longer if I want to solve it.”

“And get stuck behind the Walls at night?” Alby scoffed. “That’ll end well.”

“It’s called paying attention to the time.”

“Do you know how to keep time with the sun?”

“Do you?”

“Yep, I could’ve taught you by now if you talked to me about this sooner.”

“Shut the shuck up,” Minho snapped. “You aren’t turning this on me.”

“Look who decided to play victim,” Alby mocked.

“I’m not _shucking_ playing victim,” Minho hissed, “I just want to _shucking_ get out of this place!”

“I do too!”

“Yeah? You got a shucked up way of showing it.”

“You’re not special just because you run the Maze.”

“Not special, just not a coward.”

“Just go,” Alby snapped, waving at the gaping Maze door. “Run the Maze. Don’t let me keep you.”

“Don’t order me around,” Minho hissed.

Alby glared. “What do you _want_ from me? Just _go_. If you want to die in the Maze, that’s on you.”

“Right like you’ll be fine with me leaving,” Minho taunted. “You were practically clinging to me the first day.”

“I was alone for a month.”

“And you’d be alone again if I die.”

“Don’t think so high of yourself,” Alby scoffed. “You’re replaceable. Another person is coming up in a couple of weeks.”

Minho pursed his lips, ignoring the jerk in his chest in favor of staring down Alby. “See you, shuckface.”

Minho sprinted towards the Maze, refusing to wait for Alby’s reaction. He ran left at the first turn. The sun was still high. He could cover a lot of ground before nightfall. Not that he’d let Alby know he returned. Minho will camp out in the forest. Alby deserves to sweat, wondering if Minho made it.

Replaceable. Shucking _replaceable._ Who did Alby think he is?

He turned right, his heart pounding.

Shucking wishing death on him.

The Maze walls began to blur.

Minho was not replaceable. Who ran the Maze? Who learned some of its secrets? Who helped make a building that wouldn’t collapse?

Minho ran straight through an intersection, slowing to a jog, his heavy pants echoing through the Maze.

Shuck Alby.

* * *

 

Shuck Minho.

He ran the Maze.

So what?

Alby? Alby ensured they had shelter and food. So they could _survive_. And this is the thanks he gets?

Minho needs to get his head out of his ass.

He glanced at the sky. The doors would be closing in a few hours. Enough time for the Asian boy to return. Maybe by then his temper would cool down.

Alby released a deep breath in an attempt to think more calmly. He needed to focus. And anger would make him stupid. Alby took another breath. He still needed to expand the shack.

He clambered on top of their shack, the roof creaking under his boots. He surveyed the logs from his perch. He liked the height the shack offered him, even if it was roughly eight feet. It gave him a better idea of where he wanted the shelter.

Alby frowned. Maybe expanding the shelter so quickly was a bad idea. Alby did want to leave. But he had issues declaring if his need for a larger shelter was motivated by realism or his lack of faith that they could get out.

Which they could. Theoretically.

Alby had been there a month and a half and it still felt like he was in a weird limbo. The Glade, the Maze...it still hadn’t sunk it yet. Alby kept expecting to jerk awake from this dream—nightmare?—at any moment. Who was sending up supplies? Why did those people want them here?

Had he really already given up hope on escape before he had a chance to fight?

Maybe Minho was right...Someone had to be brave enough to solve the Maze.

And that person was not Alby.

Alby gnawed his lip. He really didn’t want to be alone again, and Minho...

His face. Alby winced in memory. Minho went from rage to stoic in less than a second, his blank mask more telling than anything. Alby shouldn’t have devalued Minho’s worth. Alby didn’t want the boy to die, didn’t want Minho to think he was expendable.

He shouldn’t have snapped. Alby sighed. The argument got away from him, but that was no excuse. He tore his gaze away from Wall. He’ll talk to Minho if he returned.

 _When_ he returned.

Alby paced their roof. He had to focus on the task at hand.

He brought his hand up, picturing where he could add on to the building. As long as they expanded away from Jujuba, of course. Alby shifted, turning to face the logs. The roof groaned as he took a step forward. He needed to—

* * *

 

Minho neared the Maze’s west opening, his bloody boiling the closer he got to the Glade.

He didn’t find anything useful. Minho did get further into the Maze, as planned, but got turned around for longer than he anticipated. He attempted to retrace his steps, but hadn’t been positive he was actually on the path back to the Glade until twenty minutes ago.

And that had been a relief.

For all his bluster, he did not want to be in the Maze at night. Minho didn’t want to die, much to Alby’s chagrin.

Minho veered towards the shack.

Where no progress had been made. But what else is new?

He clung to his simmering anger.

Shuck Alby.

“Alby!”

Minho rolled his eyes at the answering silence.

“Alby!” Of course the shuckf—A groan ripped through his thoughts. Minho paused mid-step. His heart began to race. “Alby?”

“Minho...”

Minho ran into the shack, his eyes widening at the gaping hole in the roof and bloody boy. “What the shuck happened?”

Alby was leaning against the wall, attempting to wrap a piece of canvas around his arm. “I fell.”

“I can see that.” Minho’s sarcasm was strained even in his own ears.

Alby glanced up. “It’s not that bad. I think I knocked myself out there for a bit—my head hit one of the old boxes—and I might have landed on my arm funny, but I...”

Minho tuned out the boy as soon as Alby gestured to the box. The box that was right next to the hatchet Minho threw carelessly the other day. It landed against some rock on the ground with the blade facing the roof and Minho hadn’t thought twice about it. The blade was still propped up.

And pointed towards the roof.

Minho’s breath hitched. If Alby had fallen a foot to the right...

Blood pounded in his ears.

The hatchet was so close to the shattered box. Alby could’ve been hurt. Alby could’ve died.

His gaze kept flickering between the hatchet and Alby, the dark-skinned boy had long fallen silent and was now staring at Minho in confusion.

Alby could have _died._

Minho would have been alone.

He had no idea how much that thought terrified him until now.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Minho said, breaking the silence.

Alby gave him a hesitant smile. “Glad you made it back.”

“I didn’t find anything.”

“You will.”

Minho silently took the canvas away from Alby, unrolling it. He rewrapped the canvas gently up Alby’s arm, tying it firmly under his arm. “Come on, let’s get you food.”

“Sorry I didn’t really get a lot done today...”

“It doesn’t matter. You do enough,” Minho said, heaving Alby off the ground. The boy let out a hiss. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, _sorry_ ,” Minho insisted, looking imploringly up at Alby.

Alby smiled. “Me too.”

 


	4. All for One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Newt is finally here! It was bound to happen eventually...

Something soft pressed against his cheek.

He frowned, shifting towards the wet patch.

Oink.

He jerked up. The pig by his face squealed, fleeing from him. It huffed by the wall a few feet away, trying to find an escape. It whined in protest.

Its friends snorted in reply.

His eyes went wide, flickering around the confined metal box as the pigs mulled around in confusion. His miniature world jolt, the metal box humming in its upward journey. Light flashed by the wall, illuminating his tight surrounding. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. Where was he?

He needed to get out. He had to get out.

He grasped a nearby wall, yanking himself up. The pigs’ high-pitched squealing competed with the loud clangs and whirs of the metal box, butting his legs as they charged past in panic. The box was so tiny.

Confining.

There was no room to breathe.

A numb feeling surged through him. He gripped the wall, squeezing his eyes shut, willing the dizziness away. The temptation to give in and fall over was overwhelming.

But he can’t. He didn’t know where he was going. He attempted to calm his breathing, but his heavy gasps were audible even over the roar of machine and pigs. He had to concentrate. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable. The metal pressed hard against his fingers as he tightened his death grip. Something sticky ran down his fingers. He refused to look.

The sudden stop of the box sent him tumbling to the ground. Two of the pigs attempted to wiggle under him. A cold snout nudged his hand as he picked his head off the floor.

The top clanged open. He squinted at the immediate flood of light.

“We got a new one!”

“I told you that a greenie comes up every month.”

“You okay, green bean?”

He focused on the three heads peering down at him. He flinched away as the dark-skinned boy reached towards him. He immediately withdrew his hand.

“Got a nervous one,” said the tan boy.

“Shut up, Minho,” the dark-skinned boy rebuked.

“Come on, greenie,” the ginger kid said. “It’s fresher up here.”

He was shaking. It was pathetic, but he was shaking. He didn’t know these people. He didn’t _trust_ these people. The fact they were probably around his age did nothing to ease his mind.

But he didn’t want to spend another second in this box.

He cautiously edged closer to the opening.

“There we go, greenie,” the ginger said. He couldn’t tell if the tone was meant to be mocking or consoling.

He hauled himself out of the box, grimacing as he caught sight of his bloody fingers. A breeze hit his face, making him take a deep breath. He glanced up, briefly meeting the gazes of the three boys, the three strangers. They studied him like he was a crazed animal. A line of trees behind the trio caught his attention right as the dark-skinned boy slowly stepped forward. He knew which one his instincts said was safer. Barely sparing the scrutinizing boys a glance, he sprinted past them, heading for the cover of the forest.

“Let him go,” he heard behind him. “We’ve all been there.”

He ignored them. All he wanted was to be alone. He didn’t trust them. He didn’t trust the looming walls surrounding them. He didn’t trust the complete blank that was his mind.

He didn’t stop running until he reached a large tree in by a stream. He climbed, easing himself up the tree branches. He stopped midway up the tree and pressed his knees against his chest. Now that he was alone, he didn’t know what to do. Besides to figure out what was going on. As much good as that would do. He stayed pressed against the tree until the sun began to set behind the giant walls. The eventual groans and screeches behind the wall providing an unexpectedly suitable setting for his thoughts.

That night, his sobs echoed through the forest.

Since then, the only thing he remembered about his past life was his name.

Newt.

Which is a weird name. But it’s the one connection—the one personal thing—he has so he found himself rather attached to it.

He hadn’t wandered away from the forest. He heard the walls open and close, but never ventured close enough to peer down one of the openings. The boys sometimes disappeared in one of the openings, but never for more than a few hours. He supposed he would have to join them eventually.

And eventually was apparently three days after his breakdown.

The boys decided to finally relieve Newt from his self-imposed solitude.

Newt shrank against the tree trunk as one of the boys walked through the underbrush of the forest. He knew that he couldn’t avoid the other boys forever, but he would rather meet them again on his own terms. His seclusion from the others had been successful so far was more to do with the boys not openly seeking him out than anything else. That changed now. Newt stared as the tan boy searched the forest below.

“I know you’re here,” the tan boy called.

He highly doubted that.

Newt didn’t move, letting the leaves rustle around him. He’d go down there. Eventually. He just had to work himself up to it.

“I have food.”

That was very convincing. His growling stomach agreed. Newt had eaten some berries he found, but that had been the extent of his diet since his arrival to this place.

He peered down through the leaves. The tan boy was directly underneath him, visibly irritated.

“You can’t hide forever!”

Newt smirked. Clearly not the most patient person. But he was right. Newt couldn’t hide forever. He needed to talk to the other boys. The concept was just so much easier in theory than practice.

He sucked in a deep breath. Might as well get this over with. He crouched down on the branch, preparing to climb down.

“Shuck it,” the tan boy said. Newt blinked as the boy turned and stalked back towards the makeshift shelter in the middle of the glade. “I couldn’t find him!”

Well, that was unexpected.

“You were out there for five minutes!”

Newt agreed with the yelling boy. Tan boy gave no effort in his search. Newt felt vaguely insulted.

“I don’t see how the hiding greenie is my problem, Alby,” the tan boy yelled at the dark-skinned boy, the trio converging by the large pine tree.

“Am I supposed to be surprised Minho gave up so quickly?” the ginger asked.

The tan boy—Minho—stepped towards the ginger and glared down. “No one asked you, George.”

“It’s not my fault that you don’t want to put effort into anything,” George retorted.

Minho lunged at the ginger. “Watch the effort I put into kicking your ass.”

Newt watched in fascination as Minho and George transformed into a flurry of limbs. Minho was clearly the better fighter. The ginger was soon gasping for breath in Miho’s choke hold. George clawed at Minho’s arms to no avail. Alby chose that moment to intervene. He wrestled Minho off of George.

“Guys, calm down,” he grunted.

“You’re insane!” George panted, glaring as he stepped away from the other boys.

“We’re in a shucking maze in the middle of nowhere,” Minho countered. “This whole situation is insane.”

A maze? Seriously? Who decided it would be a good idea to trap teenagers inside a maze? He stared as the three boys continued screaming in each other’s faces. That escalated quickly. Newt snorted softly. They were ridiculous. Angry, ridiculous people. And to think he initially was intimidated by these three idiots. He slid down the tree and made his way over to the boys, not that the arguing trio noticed.

“We’re doing the best we can,” Alby snapped.

“Oh yeah, that’s why we barely go into the Maze,” Minho mocked.

“How do you expect us to leave this hellhole if we avoid the only way out?” George taunted.

“We don’t _avoid_ it, we just don’t explore it for long periods of time,” Alby corrected.

George scoffed. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Not you,” Minho snapped. “Alby and I go into the Maze more than you ever do.”

“We agreed somebody would stay behind,” George said indignantly.

“Yeah and that person is always you.”

“You shucking think that just—”

“You guys aren’t really about ‘team spirit,’ are you?” Newt interrupted.

The three boys jerked around to stare at him. Newt didn’t bother to hide his smirk.

“Found the greenie,” Minho muttered.

“My name’s Newt.”

“Whatever you say, green bean,” George said.

“Is it too soon to mention how you all suck at communication or should I wait a few days?”

“We communicate,” Alby finally spoke up.

“Not _well_ ,” Newt said, “and that was just from one observation of you.”

“It’s a work in progress,” Alby said.

“Maybe you should set up ground rules. Like ‘don’t kill each other,’” Newt suggested.

Minho snorted. “Yeah, along with ‘actually pull your shucking weight and don’t hide in the forest for a few days.’”

“I’m bloody here now,” Newt said.

“I _bloody_ don’t care,” Minho snapped. “Who the shuck says ‘bloody’ anyway?”

“I bloody do,” Newt said. “Who bloody says ‘shuck’?”

“I shucking—”

“Let’s try to abide by the first rule, yeah?” Alby interrupted.

“Besides, Alby is the one who made it up,” George said, ignoring Alby. “So really this is your fault.”

“Yeah, you shuckface,” Minho smirked.

Alby threw Minho an exasperated look. “You’re not helping.”

“We’re not trying to shucking help,” Minho said.

“If you can say ‘shuck,’ I can say ‘bloody,’” Newt said. “Bloody sounds better anyway.”

“‘Bloody’ suits your accent,” George said. “Where are you from?”

Newt just stared at him. “I don’t _bloody_ know…shank.”

“Shank?” Alby frowned

“Did I stutter?”

“You can’t just make up words,” George protested.

“It appears that I can,” Newt said.

Minho snorted, nudging Alby. “I like him.”

“Glad you finally joined us. I think you’ll fit in just fine,” Alby said. “Food?”

“Food.”


	5. A Night to Remember

Newt yawned as he threw slop into the pig pen. It was too early for this. He glanced over at the closed Door and idly wondered if he should be more nervous. They’ve explored the Maze before, of course. Just not to this extent. Today was going to be the first day that they ran the Maze from when the Door opened to closed.

Out of the four of them, only Minho volunteered to run the Maze. Newt was lucky enough to draw the short stick. George and Alby would remain in the Glade and expand the garden. The Creators sent up bags of seed last week as per request. It was unnerving how helpful WICKED could be.

“Ready?” Minho asked, throwing a tool belt at Newt. Newt glanced down at the food and water, long used to the Glader’s sudden entrance. Minho had the habit of avoiding attention until it suited him. “Say your goodbyes to the pigs. They’re very attached to you.”

“You wit is sharp as ever, Minho,” Newt drawled. “Really. It’ll keep up the morale.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Come on, greenie. Alby is getting anxious. Let him look at you so he can calm himself down.”

Newt allowed himself to be led towards the west Door. “Do you have the chalk? And enough with the bloody ‘greenie’ already.”

“You have a few more days until the next greenie,” Minho said, waving the red chalk in the air. “Greenie.”

Newt narrowed his eyes at Minho’s smirk.

“You don’t have to do this,” Alby greeted them as they approached the Maze, “at least for not as long.”

“We need to solve the Maze to leave,” Minho said. “We’re not going to do that cooped up in the Glade.”

“They aren’t going to cut their return too close,” George said. “They turn back when the sky begins to pink like we agreed.”

“When the sun is at four,” Alby corrected. “We’re playing it safe. You remember what the sky looks like at four, right?”

Newt nodded, strapping the water jug to his belt more securely.

The Maze groaned open, interrupting Alby’s next bout of advice. The four boys traded looks.

“Stay together,” Alby lectured. “It’s risky if you two separate. Watch each other’s back.”

“Yes, stick together so if one of us dies, we both die. All or nothing, yeah?” Newt said.

Alby sucked in a breath. George gave them an exasperated look behind Alby’s back.

“We’re all in this together,” Minho agreed.

“We finally bonded as teammates,” Newt said forlornly. “Shame the timing is bloody awful.”

“At least we’ll go out in style,” Minho said, tightening his belt.

“You both aren’t as funny as you think you are,” Alby scolded.

“Who’s laughing? Let’s run, Minho.”

The two ran towards the Maze in sync and turned left down the first path, disappearing from sight. Minho drifted to the wall and ran a red line over it. He broke out laughing. Newt smirked in return.

“Did you see his face?”

“I almost feel bad about that,” Newt confessed.

“Don’t, it was perfect. Your face was so serious. I think Alby clunked his pants.”

“He really doesn’t do well with morbid humor.”

“He’ll get used to it.”

They ran silently for a few minutes, easing down the familiar paths. Minho and Newt had a rough game plan for their route. Alby was worried they would get lost, which is a valid concern. It is a maze, after all. Of course, that’s why they brought chalk that WICKED so kindly provided.

“It’s weird seeing George quiet,” Newt commented.

“It was bound to happen to the shank eventually,” Minho said. “Shame George can’t be like Alby and forget what words are whenever the Maze is mentioned.”

“You speak so highly of them,” Newt drawled. Minho shrugged, passing Newt a piece of chalk. They were nearing the outskirts of their comfort zone. It was time to mark every turn and hope they didn’t get hopelessly lost.

"Me and Alby have an understanding,” Minho said. “George is irritating.”

“I’m surprised you think that,” Newt said. “You’re such a people person.”

“Everyone in the Glade is irritating.”

“Thanks.”

“You most of all.”

“Really, Minho, you know how to woo a guy.”

“Shut it, greenie.”

“The same greenie that’s watching your back,” Newt reminded. “We’re running buddies.”

Minho’s gaze finally flickered towards Newt in disbelief. Newt fought to keep his face blank. “Never say that.”

“But running buddies are the best type of buddies. We have a special bond now.”

“Stop talking.”

Newt snorted but complied. Minho was prickly and potentially contained a sense of humor under his stoic exterior. George was obnoxious, leaving Alby as Newt’s favorite Glader. Alby was practical and taught Newt how to make a fire while Newt showed him how to forage plants in the forest. Why Newt had the innate knowledge of which plants were edible and poisonous wasn’t dwelled on. Anything that hinted at a life before the Maze was generally ignored. Alby was also the only one to tell him everything they found out so far, instead of being annoyingly cryptic like Minho and George. Thus the honor of being Newt’s favorite. Newt also never saw Alby lose his constant calm after Newt’s first week. Even in the face of a sniping Minho or an impulsive George. Newt needed to learn Alby’s secret.

But until then. Entertainment.

His gaze flickered back to Minho.

“So what do you think we’ll find?”

“For shuck’s sake...”

* * *

 

Alby wiped his brow, taking deep breaths as he leaned against his hoe. His meager pile of dirt transformed into a formidable garden. Alby and George spent the first few hours digging even rows for their different plants. It was beginning to look like a real garden. Alby was inordinately pleased by the sprouts of green shooting up. They were currently putting stakes next to the tomato plants.

“You know they’ll come back,” George said, abruptly cutting off his humming. “You watching the Maze isn’t going to change anything.”

Alby’s gaze jerked towards the ginger. He hadn’t even been aware he was focused on the Maze. “I’m just worried.”

“Minho and Newt have brains,” George pointed out. “They wouldn’t be caught dead on the other side of the Walls.”

“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” Alby said mildly.

George stopped struggling with his tomato stake. “Aren’t you optimistic?”

“I’m realistic.”

“No, I think Minho is just rubbing off on you. He’s a cheery little bugger.”

“Bugger?”

George shrugged, abandoning his stake haphazardly in the ground in favor of gulping water. He wiped his mouth as he passed the water jug to Alby. “I heard Newt say it. I like Newt’s words. I hope the next greenie has a weird accent too. Then we’ll have a larger vocabulary.”

Alby shrugged.

“A vocabulary is important,” George defended unnecessarily, mistaking Alby’s shrug as an indication he wanted to continue the conversation. “It adds to our already limited vernacular. We can’t just run around saying ‘shuck’ and ‘shank’ all the time. _Half_ of which was brought to us by Newt. See the benefits of—”

Alby tuned out George as he shifted his attention back to the Maze. Minho and Newt had a sense of self-preservation. They obviously wouldn’t cut their return too close to the closing of the Maze. Not that that stopped Alby from worrying, but it was progress. He knew the extended Maze exploration was necessary in order for them to actually have a fighting chance at escaping. But the Maze was a mystery, a dangerous mystery. Of course, they wouldn’t be content with just sitting in the Glade for the rest of their lives. They couldn’t just survive, they needed to be free. Something Alby understood despite his fears.

But in the meantime, a constant supply of food is necessary. Alby’s gaze flickered towards the still ranting George.

“Come on,” Alby interrupted, smirking slightly at George’s startled expression. “After we finish the stakes, we can stop to eat food.”

George pointed at Alby’s face. “You speak my language.”

* * *

 

Minho and Newt were jogging back, having started their return journey an hour ago. Newt chattered the first hour of the day until he apparently grew tired of annoying him. Better late than never. Now they were retreating under the pink sky.

Minho increased his pace. The greenie raised an eyebrow at him but matched his strides.

He was pissed.

They found nothing.

He knew that the likelihood of discovering something new was low, but Minho couldn’t help but hope.

Course why would there be hope in this shucking Maze?

He and Newt only stopped running for a quick food break, but even their constant sprinting only revealed more walls and tunnels. They had to backtrack multiple times, having hit dead ends. Minho kept them in mind, even knowing that the Maze would change the next day. And the day after that and the day after that...

“This is pointless.”

Newt jerked, staring at Minho in surprise as they turned a corner. Whether his surprise stemmed from Minho’s words or the fact he willingly broke the silence was yet to be determined. “It’s only been a day.”

“For you maybe.”

Newt rolled his eyes. “I’ve been running for two weeks now. Get off your high horse.”

Minho turned to Newt angrily. He recognized the tunnels now. They were close to the Glade. They had time for a slight delay. “I’ve been running this months before you were even brought up, _greenie_. You know what we’ve found so far? Nothing.”

Newt glowered, slowing beside Minho. “It’s a _maze_. In case it escaped your notice, mazes need to solved, which takes time. Be bloody patient.”

“Shove off.”

Newt pushed Minho against the tunnel, his lean arms caging him in. Minho sneered. “I have been dealing with your bloody attitude since day one. _Get over it_. What? Did you think we were going to magically find a giant door with a glowing exit sign on top? The people who took the time to construct a moving maze wouldn’t be so lazy. Solving the Maze will take time. Just bloody accept it now and everyone will be happy.”

“You think you’re so smart, greenie?” Minho mocked, whacking Newt’s hands away. “You think your shucking attitude is going to fix everything? Learn to face reality.”

“It’s bloody Newt,” Newt snapped, “and sorry I don’t share your ‘realistic’ attitude, but stop using it as an excuse to bloody complain all day.”

“I don’t shucking complain. I work.”

“Work and complain. It’s called multitasking. Good job on that.”

Minho’s gaze narrowed. “You think you’re being clever?”

“I’m always clever.”

Newt looked far too pleased with himself. Minho clenched his fists. “You’re lucky we made those rules.”

“‘Never hurt another Glader’?” Newt guessed. “Seriously? How angry are you?”

Minho’s fist made a satisfying crack against Newt’s face. A screech echoed through the Maze.

Minho ignored his initial twinge of guilt. He found an outlet for his anger and he was shucking going to use it. “You tell me.”

“Bloody ‘realistic’?” Newt snarled. “Is that what you call it? We didn’t find anything. Big _deal_. We aren’t going to get anywhere with your—”

“So now it’s my fault? Can’t hide behind—”

“Yes! You bloody _punched_ me—”

“What a shucking—”

“Don’t play innocent. You’re the—”

“—greenie who doesn’t—”

“— _mad_ —”

“—come in and act like a smarmy—”

 “—that no one cares—“

“—since you shucking arrived!”

Newt yanked Minho towards him. Minho stumbled against Newt’s chest, glaring up in the greenie. He studied the greenie’s darkening eye with a smirk, only jerking away when Newt suddenly loomed his head over his. Newt hissed in his ear. “You think I’m going to hit you. I’m not. Because we have rules. We’re going to follow the bloody rules because we need to work together and solve this clunking thing.” Newt shoved Minho away. “Idiot.”

Minho glared, but refused to meet Newt’s gaze. He cocked his head at the sudden metallic screech.

“What? Suddenly gain a conscience?”

“Quiet.”

Newt opened his mouth to protest, but stopped as Minho felt he face slacken as...something turned around a corner forty feet away. It looked like a science experiment gone wrong. A pale, sickly body glistened under the setting sun, pieces of metal haphazardly thrown on the creature. Its face slowly turned towards the Gladers, its sharp teeth apparent even from their distance. Minho’s heart thumped in his chest as the creature squelched and its mechanical leg braced itself off the nearby wall. He was going to be sick.

The creature whirred, clicking is pinchers together. Its body seemed to convulse on itself before it suddenly straightened.

Minho glanced at Newt’s pale face, his eyes wide with terror. They were going to die if they stayed here. Nobody should be in the Maze at night. “Run,” he breathed.

Newt stared frozen as the abomination finally seemed to sense their presence. It clicked and snorted before surging forward, slime appearing at its wake. The loud screech of its mechanical arm jerked Minho into motion.

“Run!” Minho shouted, yanking Newt. The lankier boy stumbled, but soon sprinted after Minho, the steady clank and gurgle followed them. “Don’t look back!”

“Do you think I’m bloody stupid!” Newt yelled, snapping out of his daze.

Squelch clang clang.

Newt pulled ahead of Minho. Minho glanced back. Shuck that thing was fast. The creature was getting closer every second. His steps faltered as it reared its mutilated head and roared. Minho swore, swiveling his head to focus on the back of Newt’s head.

“We’re almost there!” Newt shouted.

“We can’t lead this thing back to the Glade!”

“We don’t have time to be clever,” Newt retorted. “The Doors are closing soon! I’m not going to be bloody stuck with that thing.”

Clang clang.

Newt went impossibly faster. Minho’s eyes widened as he heard a groan vibrate through the Maze. The Doors were closing.

Gurgle clank.

Shuck. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

The groan of the Maze was growing louder. They were nearing the Glade. Minho surveyed the walls around them. They were really close. Just a left turn and they were home free. But the creature...they didn’t have time. Hopefully the door would close before the creature caught up to them.

And Newt wasn’t paying attention. He was going to miss the turn.

“Shuck! Newt, no, left! Left, left, left!” Minho shouted, wrenching Newt down the path to the Door. Newt awkwardly stumbled next to him, landing awkwardly on his ankle but not slowing his pace.

Clank clank clank.

They sprinted through the closing Door, Minho attempting to ignore everything that wasn’t Newt’s head. Creature behind him? Swiftly closing concrete doors? Nope. Just Newt’s head.

Faster, faster. They had to go faster.

Minho burst out of the Maze, a breeze hitting his face.

Boom. Minho glanced back in confirmation. The Doors were shut.

Thank shuck.

He collapsed in the grass next to Newt, the greenie gasping as he sprawled next to Minho. Newt was so close Minho could feel the heat rolling off him. They should probably tell Alby and George. Minho sank his head deeper in the grass. All in good time.

“...What?” Newt wheezed.

“I have no shucking idea,” Minho said. Sweat poured down his face. A flash of the creature sprang at him every time he shut his eyes. He ran his hand through his hair as a wave of nausea hit him.  All in all, a clunk day. “Thank shuck for the Wall.”

“Thank shuck,” Newt repeated numbly.

Minho grasped blindly behind him until he gripped Newt’s shoulder. “We’re safe now.”

Newt’s breath stuttered.

“We’re safe now,” Minho repeated, not loosening his grip.

Minho felt some tension leave Newt’s body. “I’m glad you were with me,” the boy mumbled.

Minho shifted so he could look at the pale boy properly. His eyes still looked glassy.

“What was that?” Alby shouted. Minho ripped his gaze away from Newt. Alby and George were sprinting towards them. Minho supposed they had originally agreed to arrive an hour before the Door closed. “You were supposed to be back hours—what happened?”

Minho shifted until his knees were drawn to his chest. Newt clumsily mimicked Minho’s motions.

“You guys look like clunk,” George murmured. “What did you find?”

“Here,” Alby yanked a pouch off his belt, “have water. Take deep breathes.”

“Something is in the Maze,” Newt whispered. Ably and George seemed to fully comprehend Newt’s disheveled appearance for the first time. Newt looked like death warmed over. His hair was a tangled mess on his head, except for where his bangs clung to his forehead. The stark bruise under his eye wasn’t helping. Shuck knows what Minho looked like. He wordlessly offered Newt the water pouch.

“What? What’s in the Maze?” Alby questioned.

“A monster,” Minho said. Alby sucked in a breath.

The Gladers flinched in unison as a high metallic screech invaded the air. The shucking monster had dramatic timing, Minho would grant it that.

“What type of monster?” George asked tentatively.

“Half metal, half...animal,” Minho said.

“Is it...” Alby began.

“It’s going to kill us,” Minho said. “Whoever sent us here wants us to die.”

“That can’t be true,” George protested. “You survived.”

Minho snorted. “Because we were close to the Glade when the Door started to close. Dumb luck. You didn’t _see_ that thing.”

“We’ve never seen it before,” George said. “How long have they been here?”

“We may not have seen them, but I’ve heard them since the beginning,” Alby said. “We thought it might’ve just been the Maze moving but now...”

“We know things are out to kill us?” Minho offered.

Alby shrugged sharply. “At least they only come out at night.”

“We think,” Minho muttered.

“This just got harder.”

Newt’s gaze snapped to Alby. Minho was pleased to see a familiar fire in his eyes. “You _bloody_ think so?”


	6. The Boys are Back

“What are you doing?”

Minho glanced up as Newt dropped his satchel next to him, leaning against the giant pine tree by the Homestead.

“Experimenting,” Minho muttered. He ignored Newt’s raised eyebrows as Minho attacked a piece of leather with coarse thread.

Newt grunted as he began to peel potatoes. “I meant specifically.”

“When did we get potatoes?”

“Experimentation.”

Minho lifted his gaze away from his mangled pieces of leather to glare at Newt. He smirked in reply.

“They grew in the garden,” Newt said after a beat. “I hear that’s the purpose of gardens.”

“They’re so tiny.”

“They’re measly but useful,” Newt shrugged. “We can make something out of them.”

“Does anyone know how to cook?”

“We’re not completely incompetent,” Alby said, sliding next to Newt and sitting on one of the pine’s roots. He frowned at Minho. “What are you doing?”

“Experimenting,” Newt answered.

“And how’s that going?”

“I’m not sure. If he’s making a belt then he’s doing quite terribly.”

“Shame.”

“Shuck,” Minho muttered, sucking his pricked finger. He glanced up at Alby and Newt’s amused expressions. “It’s going fine.”

“Clearly,” Newt drawled.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Minho questioned.

“I was going to sew up my shirt,” Alby said. “But apparently the needle is otherwise occupied.”

“We don’t have another?” Minho asked, glancing down at his rough handiwork.

Alby shrugged. “We’ll just send in a request with the next Box.”

“Box?” George asked, approaching the trio. “What are you slackers talking about? The Box cannot be trusted to give us everything we want. Like where’s that trampoline? Or wings? Or dynamite?”

“Yeah, so surprising WICKED ignores stupid requests,” Minho muttered.

“It was worth a shot,” George protested. “We need to find out where the boundaries are. Who knows? Maybe they’ll slip up one day and give us something key for our escape. They’re only human. Probably. If they aren’t human, they clearly have the mental capacity to—what’s that?”

“Minho is experimenting,” Alby said.

“With what? What the shuck is that supposed to be?”

“We’ve narrowed it down to ‘not a belt,’” Newt replied.

“It looks like harness,” George mused.

“Good catch, Georgie,” Newt said. “Is it a harness?”

“But why would he need a harness?” Alby asked.

“Maybe he needs to harness his emotions,” George said decisively.

Newt frowned up from his potatoes. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure it does,” George said. “It’s symbolic.”

“And a pun,” Alby said.

Newt nodded sagely. “Can’t fight that logic.”

“I’m trying to make gear for Runners,” Minho interrupted, “you annoying people. It goes over your shoulders. The tool belt kept sliding down my legs while I was running. This way, we can carry supplies without a loose belt.”

“Couldn’t you just tighten the belt?” George asked. Minho glared.

“No, it’s a good idea,” Newt said. “The belt was bulky and awkward. Not something you want to wear when you find...”

“Yeah,” Minho agreed. They couldn’t afford any disadvantages against that creature. Newt and Minho went into more detail the next morning when the events were less fresh and traumatizing. The monster was fast, which was surprising considering its size. Or what they estimated its size as. Newt didn’t get as detailed of a look as Minho, he claimed at least, so he remained silent during most of that conversation. The nervous tension that broke out after their conversation was dissolved by George with his usual incessant ramblings. Minho had never been more grateful. George dubbed the creature a ‘Griever,’ insisting that it was only logical since the creature caused such strife and grief in the Glade. The name was oddly suitable. Of course, ‘Griever,’ despite their hopes, is probably plural. Minho contained a shudder. He did not want to face two of those things, those Grievers. He wouldn’t survive, no one would survive. Minho pursed his lips at Newt’s far-off gaze and gently nudged Newt’s leg with his foot. Newt jumped but gave Minho a small smile before forcing his attention back to the potatoes.

“Smart idea,” Alby said.

“Thanks, Alby,” Minho said. “Shuck you, George.”

Alby gave him a lazy salute.

“Rude,” George said. “So are we going to continue to ignore the new greenie?”

“He ran away. Just give him time,” Newt said. “Isn’t it normal to avoid everyone for a couple days?”

Minho shrugged. “Alby?”

“The only one who didn’t was George,” Alby said. “George is a fan of people. So he freaked out silently next to us.”

“Not even surprised,” Newt said.

“Someone has to be the glue that holds this ragtag team together,” George said. “I vote me. I’m likeable.”

“You imposing your company on others does not make you likeable,” Minho said.

“Don’t be so harsh,” Newt chided. “George can be our glue.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“Now be a pal and get us food, yeah?”

“But, _Newt_.” George sounded utterly betrayed.

“Come on, glue,” Minho taunted.

“How can we trust you if you don’t even stick around when we need you?” Alby asked, keeping a mostly straight face.

“I feel so used.”

“Part of the glue criteria, I’m afraid,” Newt said wistfully.

“You guys can’t just use my words against me,” George protested.

Minho tossed his leather Running gear to the side. “Why not? Not a man of your word?”

“That’s not what I...you can’t just,” George sputtered.

Newt flashed Minho a grin. “I think you broke him.”

“Shuck,” Minho smirked, “who can fix our glue?”

“I feel like this is a deep, philosophical question,” Alby said. “We must ponder.”

“Over food,” Newt added.

Alby nodded. “Of course.”

“Glue?” Minho turned expectantly.

George crossed his arms. “I hate all of you.”

“What happened to the likeable people person?” Minho asked.

“He died.”

“Don’t be like that, Georgie,” Newt teased.

“I will be how I shucking want to be like,” George said.

“Well put,” Minho affirmed.

“Quite moving,” Newt agreed, tossing the last skinned potato back into the pouch. He stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. Alby and Minho traded confused glances while George looked up triumphantly.

“What are you doing?” Alby questioned.

Minho tilted his head back to meet Newt’s gaze. “Not taking George’s job, are you?”

“Course not,” Newt said, “going to fetch the greenie. It’s about time he joined our ranks.”

“That’s—” Alby began.

“Plus it’ll make George look like a bad host,” Newt interrupted. “Refusing to give him food...such a shame.” Newt gave George’s exasperated face a cheeky grin before turning towards the forest.

“Oh shuck you!” George yelled over Minho and Alby’s laughter.


	7. Now or Never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so the last time I read the books was about a year ago. So the character’s physical descriptions will match the movie. And, with that knowledge, I now leave you with my latest chapter of HSM that turned out much longer than I anticipated. Enjoy!

“This is just so obvious,” George said, leaning against Minho. Minho pursed his lips but instantly smoothed his expression when he caught Newt and Alby smirking at him. Alby mentioned in passing how George didn’t think Minho liked him. And Newt’s snort when Minho protested made him determined to prove he cared about the cretin. Either George was aware of the point Minho needed to prove or he was naturally tactile whenever there wasn’t an enforced personal bubble. Either way, Minho was stuck with a bubbly George. Not to make it sound like a punishment. Their personalities just clashed too much for Minho to take George’s constant optimism seriously, especially after the ginger insisted ‘opposites attract’ or some klunk like that. But George’s ramblings were comforting—it meant everything was normal. Minho even discovered, much to his chagrin, he couldn’t sleep without listening to George’s sleepy mumbles. He was a talkative shank.

“It’s just a shame that it’s when another Glader comes up,” Alby said.

“We’re not that frightening,” Newt said. “He’ll be fine.”

Minho shrugged. “Probably.”

“Probably,” George agreed, poking Minho with his foot. Newt snorted. Shank.

“It can’t be helped anyway,” Nick said, the dark-haired boy watching the Box’s opening. “This is worth a shot. We know the Box leads to the outside. Where else would our supplies come from? I just can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“You’re still technically the greenie,” Newt pointed out. “If anything, you’re the least at fault here.”

“And we’ve always been focused on building a settlement and solving the Maze,” Alby said. Minho arched an eyebrow at the slightly defensive edge in Alby’s tone. As the first Glader, Minho knew Alby felt the worst for not trying this theory earlier.

“Like rats in a science experiment...” Nick mused.

“And here we are,” Minho drawled, “still experimenting. I hope our scientists are entertained with our efforts.”

“Well this isn’t climbing the Maze or trying to dig under it but...” Nick began, not bothering to hide his sneer.

“And we did those for the same reason we’re doing this,” Alby snapped. “We’re trying to get out.”

"Don’t act like you didn’t think of those things either when you were brainstorming,” Minho said.

Nick raised his hands defensively. Minho rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah? Try not being such a smug shank about it," Minho said.

George let out a nervous laugh, eyes darting nervously between Alby, Minho, and Nick. “We’ll see in a bit if this theory is worthwhile, yeah?”

“Yes, I’m sure the people who put us here never anticipated us attempting to use the Box on a downwards journey,” Alby said.

“You didn’t,” Nick said snippily.

“Don’t act like you know how the Glade works, greenie,” Minho snapped.

"I think I’ve picked up on things after a month,” Nick said. “I’m already contributing on the escaping front, in case it’s passed your notice.”

“In case it’s passed _your_ notice, I actually run the Maze,” Minho said. “I’m more involved with the ‘escaping front.’”

“You don’t run it by yourself,” Nick protested, his gaze sliding to the silent Newt.

“I wasn’t trying to make it sound like I was struggling savior, single-handedly bringing us to safety,” Minho mocked. “So I didn’t think it was necessary for me to declare me and Newt have run the Maze every day, which everyone with eyes can see.”

Nick sputtered. “I don’t think that—”

“Shut your bloody traps,” Newt interrupted. “We’ve got company.”

Minho met Newt’s raised eyebrow with a shrug. Newt rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the rising Box, the trilling bell competing with loud rumblings.

“Who do you think it’s going to be?” George asked, breaking the tense silence.

“No idea,” Minho said.

George flashed him a flickering smile. “I’m hoping it’s someone with Newt’s accent. Your word choices please me. Plus I can easily identify you in a crowd.”

“A crowd of four people?” Newt asked dryly.

George shook his head earnestly, earning a soft snort from Alby. “It can get quite overwhelming.”

“Who should open the Box?” George asked, staring as the glint of silver grated to a sudden halt.

“I don’t think it really matters,” Minho said. “Does it?”

“Nope,” Nick answered, walking the few feet to yank the door open.

“Aww,” George mumbled. “I’ll just get the next one then. I really feel like I’ll find a kindred spirit eventually. You guys need more of my good cheer.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Alby teased, moving forward to get a glimpse of the greenie in the Box.

A moment too late, apparently.

The new greenie shot out of the Box, knocking Nick to the side like a ragdoll. The new blond boy’s eyes widened as he caught sight at the rest of them. He dropped to a fighting stance, his grey eyes flashing with challenge.

George blinked before slowly holding up his hands placatingly. “We’re all friends here, greenie.”

“What did you call me?” the greenie grunted, his gaze assessing George and instantly dismissing him as a non-threat. The blond’s eyes narrowed on Minho. Minho nodded coolly as he shifted to the side of George. If the greenie attacked, Minho could easily either push George to the side or pry the greenie off the ginger.

“Greenie,” George replied soothingly. Minho glanced to the side, catching sight of Alby leaning over to check the sprawled Nick. The dark-haired boy grumbled when Alby put a gentle hand on the side of his face. “It’s what we call the new people who arrive in the Glade.”

“What’s the Glade?” The blond didn’t relax his stance. Newt casually shifted closer, keeping a tight grip on his staff.

“The green area enclosed by the Walls,” George said. “It’s where we stay if we’re not running the Maze.”

“Maze? Where are we? I ca-can’t remember anything.” The greenie suddenly slumped. George ran forward. “I just don’t k-know what’s happening. I don’t ge—”

George placed his hands on the greenie’s shoulders as the blond’s breathing grew harsher. “Just breathe. Like me. In, out, in, out.”

The greenie’s breathe stuttered. Newt and Minho approached slowly, easing around the greenie to stand near Alby. They didn’t want to panic the greenie further.

“Come on, just like me,” George urged. “In, out, in, out...yeah! Just like that! In, out, in, out. You’re doing fantastic. In, out, in...”

“George has a way with people,” Nick muttered, sitting up from where he fell on the ground. Minho smirked as Nick rubbed his chin tenderly. He ignored Newt’s pointed jab.

“Shuck, really?” Alby said. Nick’s glare fixed on the dark-skinned boy.

“None of us remembered our names at first,” Newt said, addressing the greenie. Minho had the feeling Newt was reminding the other Gladers of the blond’s presence, halting any potential arguments. Nick closed his mouth abruptly. Huh. Good call on Newt’s part.

The blond tensed slightly until George threw a companionable arm around his shoulder. The greenie tentatively smiled up at him. “Let’s do introductions, shall we? I’m George, the one with the accent is Newt, the intense one is Minho, Alby is the dashing lad next to him, and the one you hit is Nick.”

“Um...sorry,” the greenie told Nick awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alby said. “Minho beat the klunk out of me when he first arrived.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “You’re dramatic.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“I’m inclined to believe Alby on this one,” Newt said.

“Why?” Minho asked, attempting to sound offended. Alby’s following scoff was unnecessary.

“I don’t know,” Newt drawled. “You’re usually such a peach.”

“See? This is why I want another accented person,” George said triumphantly. “‘Such a peach’...such a nice phrase. No one else here says klunk like that. So who knows what another person with an accent could do—not that I don’t want you here, greenie. Nothing like that. I like you. Well, I know we haven’t known each other for very long. Or even five minutes. But I get a good vibe off you. Plus you entered the Glade with a solid punch at Nick. Like that’s your first response? _Awesome_.Not that you should punch Gladers. It’s against our rules. We don’t have many of them, but not harming a Glader is definitely one of them. Top three actually...haha. That’s funny because we only have three rules. But I feel like the main one is not harming another Glader. Not that I think you would do it again. Honestly, if anyone would punch someone again I really think it’d be Minho. Not that I don’t trust you, Minho. Because I definitely do. I’m just—”

“George breath, you’re scaring the greenie,” Minho said mildly. If you counted the way the blond stared at George in fascination as fear. Of course, it was always interesting to watch George work himself into a rambling frenzy, constantly backtracking so he didn’t say anything potentially offensive. Minho stared the first time George did that too. His staring might also have been due to the fact that the Glade hadn’t been full of constant chatter until George’s arrival.

“So sorry,” George said.

The greenie blinked, snapping out of his daze. “No, you’re...fine.”

“Maybe we should unload the supplies?” Nick suggested, using Newt’s offered hand to stand. “So we can get started on...stuff.”

“Minho, Alby, and I can start,” Newt said. “Why don’t you and Georgie show the greenie around?”

Nick opened his mouth to protest.

“I feel like it should be tradition for the last greenie to help out the newest greenie,” Newt continued after a slight pause. “After all, I did that for you, Nick.”

“Seems fitting,” George agreed. “Come on, Nick. Let’s show him the Glade.” Nick hesitated before wordlessly following the duo, not sparing a backwards glance.

Alby, Minho, and Newt quickly shuffled supplies from the Box to the Glade for a few minutes before anyone broke the silence.

“Glad this one didn’t run off,” Alby said. “Maybe our group is getting big enough so they think escape is futile.”

“Wouldn’t a large group be more intimidating and more likely incite someone to flee?” Newt asked.

Alby shrugged. “Maybe we’re large enough to at least spark the fight or flight instinct?”

“Well, this one chose fight,” Minho said. “A quick bop to Nick’s face seems much more efficient than running away for a few days. Plus George seems to have calmed him down.”

“Our George does have a way with words,” Alby agreed.

“And can befriend a stick, yeah,” Minho added.

“Why don’t you two like Nick?” Newt questioned abruptly.

Minho glanced at Newt’s impassive face. He shrugged at Alby. Alby could answer that one.

“He was just a bit of a shank today,” Alby said neutrally.

Ah, so they were going to avoid bringing up Nick’s stuck-upish attitude. Right. Of course, Minho understood why Nick was a slintface to _him_. Alby? Less so. “We obviously want to get out of the Glade,” Minho said carefully, “but we were just bringing Nick down a peg or two. We don’t have anything personal against the shank.”

“Yeah, as unlikely as this is, I actually hope the Box takes us down so we can leave this hellhole,” Alby said.

Newt glanced away from the duo for a second, gnawing his bottom lip. Minho frowned. He wasn’t used to seeing Newt anything less than self-assured. He didn’t like it. “Sorry, it’s just been at the back of my mind ever since Nic—well, I mean, I noticed you two were a bit...shorter with him. I know even if you two didn’t like a Glader, you wouldn’t do anything harmful.”

“Course not,” Alby said. “If I was going to kill anyone, it would be Minho hands down.”

Newt smiled faintly. “Just...sorry I doubted you two.”

Minho hated that Newt felt he had to act this way—scared was too strong a word...apprehensive maybe—around them. Where was the trust? He thought that since they started running together—Minho shook his head and forced a shrug. “It’s fine. You were concerned. It’s behind us now.”

Newt’s shoulders relaxed minutely. Minho breathed a sigh of relief, before quickly squelching down his wave of annoyance at Nick. He didn’t want that shuckface to drive a wedge between them and Newt. There couldn’t be any factions in the Glade. Everyone had to work together. It was the only way for them to survive and solve the Maze. Alby had ranted this to Minho for days after Alby had fallen through the Homestead’s roof. And it applied now more than ever. And the fact it was _Newt_...

“You’re a manipulative little shank,” Minho said, causing Alby and Newt to turn to him sharply. “Orchestrating for Nick and George to help the greenie in order to get us alone...you realize you could’ve just unsubtly brought us to the side at some point and we would’ve talked to you. It’s what friends do, I hear.”

Newt flushed. “That may have been the most I’ve ever heard you speak at one time.”

“Me too, actually,” Alby said with forced nonchalance. “I’m impressed. I feel like Minho is growing as a person.”

“Talking...sharing _feelings_...” Newt mused, giving them a small smile as he latched on to the normalcy of Alby’s comment. “You know, I think you’re right, Alby.”

“I’m rarely wrong.”

“See? Now you’ve gone and given him a big head,” Minho scolded.

Newt bumped shoulders with Minho. “I try to do what’s best for the Glade.”

“How is an egotistical Alby good for anyone?” Minho questioned, frowning at the innocent-looking Newt.

“Don’t question him,” Alby said. “Rude, much?”

“How is that rude?”

“You see,” Newt began, “we’ve always known the finer points of social etiquette have escaped you.”

“You’re so full of klunk,” Minho interrupted.

“See? It’s moments like this,” Alby said. “This is why we’ve been trying to mold you into the perfect gentleman.”

“Shame our efforts were wasted,” Newt said wistfully.

 “Both of you,” Minho clarified, “full of so much klunk.”

“Yet I still find myself trusting in the future,” Alby continued, ignoring Minho. “We can sculpt him. Under his rough exterior there lies hope.”

“This is why I’ve never liked people.”

“How do you know? You don’t remember life before the Glade,” Newt said.

“How considerate of you to point out, Newt,” Alby said.

“I do strive to keep peace and harmony in the Glade.”

“We can only hope that we all follow in your humble, honest footsteps.”

“I hate you both so much,” Minho said, “and if you could bother to remember our ultimate goal here, that would be great.”

Newt furrowed his brow. “To sculpt the perfect gentleman?”

“For shuck’s sake,” Minho muttered.

“Minho is right,” Alby said, apparently deciding to take pity on Minho’s plight. Shank. Took him long enough. “Let’s guard the Box.”

“Good idea,” Nick said, lugging a few pouches as he trekked towards them. “I feel like we should go down there in groups of two. I brought us packs of food and water just in case.”

“Never know what could happen,” Newt agreed, grabbing one of Nick’s packs. He turned to Alby. “First shift?”

“Why not?” Alby agreed. “We’ll be in there for a while. Hopefully, we’ll come up with some out of the box ways to keep us entertained.”

“We can only hope,” Newt said dryly, before turning his attention to Nick. “Three hour shifts, yes?”

“Six,” Nick corrected, having long since smoothed his annoyed expression. “We’ll get you food for dinner.”

“And then we’ll relieve them?” Minho asked. Sharing an enclosed space with Nick...such fun. Of course, he supposes he’ll make an effort to make amends with him for Newt’s sake. And George, he supposed. George gets along with everyone.

“Actually, I thought I’d try to talk to the greenie some more, teach him some survival skills,” Nick said. “George won’t mind going down with you.”

Minho narrowed his eyes at Nick’s innocent tone. He knew for a fact Nick didn’t want to mess with the greenie and would rather have firsthand experience with his Box theory. Nick needed to shucking get over his shucking infatuation with Newt and work with others. “Sounds good,” he forced out.

“Great,” Nick said, smiling at Minho toothily.

At Newt’s worried glance between him and Nick, Minho forced a smile. “See you shanks in six hours.”

* * *

 

If Minho thought that the six hours dragged when Newt and Alby had been in the Box, it was nothing compared to when his and George’s shift started. George had previously been animatedly chatting with the greenie when Nick and Minho silently returned from the Box. George and the greenie got along swimmingly. Of course, it was George so...However, Nick quickly joined in and captivated the greenie’s attention with an animated story involving him, the pine tree Minho was 87% sure Alby named and was strangely attached to, and a rock. So the trio had been chattering for the majority of the time, making Minho feel uncomfortably like an outsider—George was far too excited by the greenie to notice not everyone was involved in the conversation. Minho had repaired his Running gear to give him something to do.

When they started their shift, George managed to remain silent for the first twenty-five minutes. Minho was positive it was a record.

“So we probably shouldn’t fall asleep,” George said. “I know it’ll be late when we get out of here, but if the Box moves while we’re sleeping, things could end badly.”

Minho shrugged, belatedly realizing that the darkness probably made it impossible for George to see him. “If you want to sleep, I’m not going to so I could wake you up if anything happens.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll keep you company. Unless you don’t want that...?” George trailed off uncertainly.

Minho huffed. “George, I don’t hate you.”

“Oh, um...thanks? I don’t hate you either, in case you were worried.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Good.”

Minho took a breath and forced himself to say it. “I would actually prefer it if...you talked. Your ramblings are soothing. It relaxes me.”

“Really?”

“Unfortunately.”

“That’s great!” George said. “I knew you didn’t hate me even when I complained to Alby and Newt. I figured you’d open up around me after though...so glad that worked out.”

“You _knew_ this would happen?” Minho didn’t know if he was annoyed or impressed.

“Yep.” He sounded far too smug. “It only took a couple days after I complained for there to be a noticeable difference about you. Namely, you let me hang off you like a koala.”

“Shank.”

George laughed. “We just don’t really talk much. Well, I talk _at_ you a lot, but actual conversations? Not so much. You were always closer to Alby when I first came up, which I totally get. You guys probably bonded since you were the only two up here. God, I can only imagine how Alby felt his first month alone...Anyway then Newt came and you both got along great after the Griever. Traumatizing experiences bond people. Understandable, I suppose. But I was feeling left out of the Minho party because Newt and you hit it off so much quicker than we did...But I knew it wasn’t me specifically, per se. Because you and Nick don’t get along like _at all_. Or Nick and Alby for that matter...which is weird because Alby tries to keep peace among everyone...But I knew Newt and Alby would work themselves into a fuss if I dropped a few hints about my ‘fears’ with our relationship. I swear they think I’m the younger brother they need to take care of despite the fact I’m taller than both of them. Probably older than at least Newt. There’s no way that baby face is older than me. They just need to understand that friendliness does not mean weakness because—”

“Trust me,” Minho interrupted, flushing when George turned to him incredibly pleased, the moon lighting the right half of his face. “We know. Your way with people is impressive. You talked the greenie out of a panic attack within minutes of meeting him. If we make you our official greenie ambassador, I feel like initial violent outbursts will decrease.”

“I do like it when people don’t run to the forest.”

“And you can empathize with a rock. You’re probably the least judgmental person here.”

“I should’ve trapped you in the Box with me for hours sooner,” George said. “Thanks for all that.”

Minho shrugged and then grimaced. Put it in words. The beauty of shrugs was their ambiguity. They could say as much or little as Minho wanted. “Someone has to be social in this group.”

George turned towards him sharply. “Don’t think for a second that you’re less valuable because you struggle in big groups or talking to new people. You’ve been closed off more since Nick got here. Whether that’s because it’s Nick or because he was new...”

“Both probably,” Minho said. “I don’t know. We had a bad first impression.”

“What happened?”

Minho hesitated. He might as well tell someone. “It was after me and Newt’s first run after the Griever. We got back late and Newt went to talk to Alby about the new section we found. I think you were patching a hole in the Homestead’s wall. I was tired. I didn’t see Nick until I plowed into him. I may have snapped his head off about being a useless, oblivious waste of space.”

“That’s not too bad. Not the best introduction but...”

“I have a shorter fuse when I’m tired. Nick tried to apologize—he was still scared, but I didn’t care. He asked where Newt was. Newt talked him out of the forest and convinced him to join us. He was the only one that Nick trusted. I don’t think I fully grasped that at the time. So I made fun of him. Called him a few unsavory names and even dragged Newt’s name in the dirt just to get at Nick. I didn’t mean it. I was tired and frustrated, not that that’s an excuse.”

“But you just found a new section of the Maze. I thought you were happy.”

“It was because of the other section of the Maze that I was in such a shucking mood. I thought all the progress we made up till that point was useless, that I—we—wasted all of our time. I was crushed for days after that. The Maze was bigger than we thought, which wasn’t really a startling revelation, but actually _seeing_ the scope of the Maze...It was demoralizing. I thought we would never solve it. So I took my frustration out on the gree—Nick.”

“Oh...”

“Yeah, he fought back after that,” Minho said tiredly, “which is good. I treated him and his one friend in the Glade like klunk. I think that’s part of the reason he’s so protective about Newt around me. Since after what I said about Newt...”

“What did you say?”

Minho’s stomach swooped. “Nothing I meant. Newt is great. He makes running more bearable and keeps me distracted whenever I get really dark thoughts. I appreciate Newt. A lot. I understand why Nick despises our interactions. But it still pisses me off whenever he inserts himself into our conversations or distracts Newt. And Newt doesn’t even realize he’s _doing_ it. It’s shucking annoying. Nick and I don’t like each other. So we avoid being alone together. It’s easier that way. We’ve just never made amends.”

“Thanks for telling me,” George said after a moment. “I know I’m not your first choice to unload on. But I still appreciate it. I don’t know how to rectify the situation. You’re both so stubborn. Honestly, an apology from you might be the only way to fix it and even after that it would probably take a while.”

“I know,” Minho muttered. “I just hate the idea of groveling in front of the shank. But I really need to do something before this escalates uncontrollably.”

George hummed in agreement. “If I can help in anyway, you have to tell me.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and since we’re on the subject, do you know why Alby and Nick aren’t exactly friends either?”

“It’s not like me and Alby gossip about Nick whenever we’re alone,” Minho reprimanded mildly. Really the closest they’ve gotten to it was pointed glances. “But, if I had to guess, it probably has to do with the tension that’s apparently obvious to everyone but Newt that came after Nick’s appearance. Alby doesn’t know about our less than stellar meeting. Also Nick’s constant undermining and derision of Alby’s efforts to escape before he showed up doesn’t help.”

“Hmm,” George murmured. “I’ll find a way to remedy this situation. Just give me time. If you _or_ Alby want someone to vent to or help you...”

“Trust me,” Minho reassured. “You’re now my official people consultant.”

George practically preened. “How fancy. Can I get a plaque?”

“Where would I get a plaque?”

“You’re resourceful. I have faith in you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem. You can also refer to me as ‘PC’ in emergencies. Or if you just want to call me ‘PC.’”

“Rolls right off the tongue,” Minho said dryly, “and has the plus of being very subtle.”

“Exactly! So now no one would know what or who you’re talking to,” George said, “except for me, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“We should come up with code words.”

“For what?”

“For any situation. For _emergency_ emergencies just say ‘bum knee.’”

“But what if I get a bum knee?”

“...This is why we need to come up with code words. We have like ten hours to kill. Let’s do it.”

“You realize nothing is probably going to happen.”

“Oh yeah, I figured that after the Box didn’t go down after an hour. The people who put us here are demented, not stupid. But we promised to stay here for our shift. And I don’t want to deal with Newt and Alby teaming up on me in a disapproving and probably mocking way. I see them bully you enough for me to know it wouldn’t be fun. Plus we’d have to deal with an angry Nick and that will not help the H.M.N.F.O.A.L.N.H.E.O. plan.”

“The what?”

George sighed exasperatedly. “Help Minho and Nick be Friends Or At Least Not Hate Each Other plan. Do I really need to emphasize the importance of us going over code words now?”

Minho laughed, startling George...and himself, if he was being honest. “Alright, so say I accidentally insulted someone but I’m not sure if I did. What would you say?”

“Well, if you _did_ insult the person...”

Minho grinned, letting his head knock against the wall of the Box. The soothing sounds of George’s rant washed over him as he slowly relaxed in the Box. A short nap won’t hurt anybody.

A foot kicked him. He grunted.

“No sleeping. I know my voice is magical, but this klunk is important.”

“No sleeping, promise,” Minho said, making an effort to shift forward.

“Hmm...Well, like I was _saying_ before I was so _rudely_ ignored by _someone_ who will remain _nameless_...What was I saying?”

“Code words for potentially insulted people.”

“Right, so...”

Minho felt at peace, happy. He had no idea why he never bothered to actually talk to George before now. George continued chattering amiably, waving his hands wildly to emphasize his words, oblivious to Minho’s thoughts. Minho smiled softly. He would just have to make up for that lost time in the future.


	8. Scream

George wiped his brow, blinking as sweat stung his eyes. He eyed the nearby wood. He was not meant for this heavy lifting. The garden was much more his style. For the past few days, he and Gally had been working on constructing a shack for Runners to put their findings in. Apparently they were attempting to map the Maze, which sounded nearly impossible since the Maze changed nightly. But George had faith in their Runners. While Newt and Minho ran every day, Nick and Alby ran at least three times a week as well. George, coincidentally, was willing to sacrifice his running privileges in favor of staying at the Glade to keep everything intact. Gally, however, wanted to run. And he would. Eventually. George knew that both Alby and Nick were eager to retire as Runners, especially Alby, and would be quick to use Gally’s enthusiasm against him.

Even though Gally did have a knack for building. The walls of their new Running shack were quite legit, if George did say so himself, and much sturdier than the initial Homestead. All they had left now was the roof.

“What are you doing?” Gally asked, his grey eyes judging George as he chugged water.

George glanced up sheepishly. He had long sense grown immune to Gally’s occasional stern expressions. “Taking a break.”

“You took a break an hour ago,” the blond said pointedly.

“And the sun is setting, greenie,” George said. “Look at that view. You don’t see that every day.”

“We do actually.”

“Slim it,” George said easily. “Come join me. I have aqua.”

Gally hesitantly sat down his hammer. “But...”

“Hush, greenie. Let me be a bad influence. Trust me, we’re making faster progress on this than anyone expected. Even Minho complimented it. And Minho is difficult to impress enough so he’ll actually use words to convey his feelings.”

“You talked me into it,” Gally said, smirking as he snatched the water jug out of George’s hands.

“I hear I have a way with words.”

Gally grunted, surveying the Glade. “Are Newt and Minho back yet?”

“Yeah, I saw Newt heading towards Alby and Nick, while Minho went off to brood some place.” Minho actually looked broodier than usual. George made a mental note to corner Minho at the next available opportunity. He also needed to confront Minho on the progress of the H.M.N.F.O.A.L.N.H.E.O. plan, which was dismal at best. At least Minho was now used to George’s unsubtle whisking away for a somewhat private conversation consisting of hissed whispers. Their time in the Box definitely helped their relationship, especially considering they both fell asleep around the fourth hour and were found by a snickering Newt and a stern Nick the next morning. That mocking still hadn’t gone away and it’s been nearly a month. However, it was now confirmed that the Box was controlled by the Creators and refused to move as long as they were in it. So...progress?

“I want to be a Runner,” Gally said wistfully, interrupting George’s inner monologue.

“Why?” George asked in a hopefully nonjudgmental way. He always attempted to keep an open mind, but he never understood people—alright, just Minho before Gally popped up—who genuinely wanted to run the Maze.

“I want to feel like I’m doing something,” Gally said. “That I’m actually contributing to our escape.”

“You are contributing,” George protested.

Gally scoffed.

"You are!” George repeated. Honestly, he was prepared to cash in his ‘Personal Cheerleader’ title in the Glade, which also could fall under his PC title, he was pleased to note. “Everyone has to do their part. It’s when all of these parts work together efficiently that we’re more likely to survive. You can’t just ignore your job because it’s not as flashy as the Runners. I moved literal clunk before. There is no pride here. Just teamwork and survival.”

“I guess...”

“You’ll get it once you’re here longer,” George said decisively. “The Maze really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You’ve run it before?”

George hesitated in the face of Gally’s ill-contained excitement. “Yeah probably two weeks all together. It’s huge. I couldn’t keep all the turns straight in my head like the others. Plus the Maze changes every night...I know the immediate area in the Maze pretty well, but that’s about it.”

"What’s the Maze like?”

“I promise it’s really not that exciting,” George stressed. “Once you see one part of the Maze, you’ve seen it all.”

George didn’t trust the sudden mischievous glint in Gally’s eyes. “Why don’t you show me a little bit of the Maze so I stop bugging you?”

“We’re not really supposed to—”

“Especially since it all looks the same.”

“Rules, Gally.”

“Lame, George. What would Newt say at a time like this?”

“Don’t go in the bloody Maze, you shanks.”

“But don’t you feel better since you imitated Newt?”

“I feel slightly manipulated.”

“You know what you should do?”

“I’m not taking you in the Maze.”

“At least this way, I’ll get over my curiosity of the Maze.”

George hesitated. “But...”

“Come on,” Gally urged. “Live a little. I thought you were supposed to be a bad influence?”

George let out a snort. He could just lead Gally down the immediate entrance of the Maze. The Doors weren’t closing for another hour or so. They’d be gone and back again so quickly that no one would miss them. “Sure, why not? Follow me, hooligan. I really feel like this whole ‘bad influence’ thing goes both ways.”

“You’re probably just projecting.”

“You’re so smug now that I agreed.”

“I have a reason to be.”

George rolled his eyes, casually checking behind them. The North Door was covered by trees so theoretically no one should spot them. “Just be quiet. The Maze is very echo-y.”

Gally nodded, eyes wide with glee. “So that’s it then?”

“Yep,” George said, popping the ‘p.’ “It’s not much, but...”

“It’s awesome!”

“Well—hey stop running, shank,” George called. Damn Gally was eager to leave the Glade. He sprinted after the blond. Alby and Nick would kill him for losing the greenie. “Stop! I’m serious.”

“Come on,” Gally goaded, taking a sharp left. “Live a little.”

“The Doors are closing soon!” George yelled. Shuck Gally was fast.

“They don’t close for another hour.”

“Look who’s suddenly the know-it-all!”

“I learn from the best.”

George skidded to a halt, glaring at the wheezing blond. “That was unnecessary. And you’re out of shape.”

“Yeah?” Gally panted. “You’re not much better than me. Besides I don’t exactly run around all day. And, in case it escaped your notice, I’ve been building a shack all day.”

“Me too!” George protested.

Gally raised an impressive eyebrow.

“Well, mostly.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Come on,” George urged, tugging on Gally’s sleeve. “We really should get back to the Glade. We don’t have a ton of rules but we’re already breaking an important one.”

“Can we just...stay for a while?” Gally asked quietly. George pursed his lips, but stopped his persistent tugging. He heard Gally use that meek tone all of two times and both of those times were during Gally’s first couple nights. It made George want to wrap him in a hug, which he knew Gally was against on principle unless he was tired or frightened. “The Glade is suffocating...being surrounded by all those walls makes me anxious.”

“So you would rather spend your time directly under the giant walls with less space to move around?”

“I didn’t say it was rational,” Gally muttered, running a hand through his cropped hair. “Out here is equally nerve-wracking—these tight spaces are freaking me out—but I know there’s an escape out here. There’s a path that leads to a place with no Walls, no Maze...I really want to go to that place. You have no idea. The longer I’m here, the more I feel like there’s a weight on my chest, holding me back, ready to burst at any moment. I hate that feeling. I want it to go away. To do that, I need to be out here. It’s more freeing in these enclosed spaces than anywhere in the Glade.”

George placed his hand on Gally’s shoulder. The greenie smiled half-heartedly. “We can talk to the others about making you a Runner.”

Gally blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Of course, it’s important to you,” George said. “It’s not like you have to run every day like Minho and Newt. You, Alby, and Nick can alternate until you get more experience.”

“You know I didn’t bring you out here to coerce you into letting me join the Runners, right?” Gally asked hesitantly.

“Obviously,” George said. “That’d be a klunk plan. Too many potential outcomes.”

“You went for it.”

“Yes, but this isn’t part of your grand scheme to become a Runner.”

Gally bit his lip, suddenly shy. “Do you really think they’ll go for it?”

“I have a way with words,” George reminded. “You’re in good hands.”

“I really feel like I’m not contributing much to our friendship, in all honesty,” Gally said, cutting off George when he opened his mouth to protest. “You’ve been great, George. Thanks.”

“You know a good way to commemorate this occasion?”

“To head back to the Glade?”

“No.” George frowned. “Well, yes, but that’s not what I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind?” Gally asked, following George down the path.

“A hug.”

Gally wrinkled his nose.

“Come _on_. It’ll be fun. You practically owe me your life, after all.”

“You’re so humble.”

“I’m realistic,” George said, “and surprisingly easy to please. You should be grateful.”

“But you have cooties.”

George rolled his eyes. “Slim it. You pulled that word out of your bum. Stop being difficult and hug me shank.”

“But you like it when Newt says random words,” Gally protested, smirking at George’s exasperated expression.

“Newt’s words sound better than ‘cooties.’ ‘Cooties’ would only be relevant if it meant that I’m awesome. Because that, my friend, would be a true statement.”

“It obviously means—”

A high pitched screech interrupted Gally.

Shuck. George held a hand up, making Gally instantly fall silent. The slow clamp of fear worked its way around George’s heart. No, please no.

The Maze remained impossibly silent, save George’s harsh breathing. He forced himself to calm down.

He wasn’t successful.

“Maybe that was just from the Glade?” Gally asked quietly, staring at the ginger with wide eyes. It was rare George’s good mood vanished.

George frowned, ushering Gally forward. Sketchy noise source leads to increased pace back to the Glade. Yes, it does.

Shuck. George knew they shouldn’t have come out here. He forced a smile when he noticed Gally nervously watch him. Exude calm. Comfort Gally. His mantra was ineffective.

But nothing stirred in the Maze.

George gnawed at his lip. He was just jumping at shadows.

Now, he was really worrying Gally. But he couldn’t force himself to break the tense silence. Not until they reached the safety of the Glade.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the Door. Thank shuck.

Clank clank gurgle.

No.

Gally froze. “George, what’s...?”

Clang clang clang.

“Run!” George shouted, pushing Gally forward.

The blond stumbled. “But George—”

“Run, you shank! Get out of here!” Another push sent Gally reeling towards the Glade.

Gurgle clank clank.

George gapped as the Griever turned the corner. That’s the only thing it could be. Machine legs surgically attached to an oozing pale flesh...The Griever whirred angrily, clanked it pinchers together as it shifted to face them.

_They’re fast shanks_ , he remembered Minho informing them after that fateful night.

Clang clang gurgle.

George sprinted towards the open Door, hearing the Griever surge behind him.

The Door was still open.

What would stop the Griever from causing mayhem to the Glade?

He risked a glance back. The Griever was barreling down the path, screeching as Gally neared the Door. His heart pounded in his ears, beating louder and louder until everything seemed to slow. The Griever’s sickly skin rippled as it slugged behind the mechanical arms. The Griever shifted. George blinked. It was minute but the Griever shifted. He sucked in a breath when he realized the Griever’s new angle led to the only other person in the Maze. It was aiming at Gally. Shuck. Why would it aim for Gally?

The Griever was closing in on him, the oblivious Gally losing distance to the shucking fast monstrosity.

Gally...

George screamed as he threw himself in front of the Griever.

* * *

 

Newt inspected the stew, experimentally poking it with a spoon.

“It won’t bite,” Nick said exasperatedly.

“Only because there are no animals in here,” Newt said, lifting the bowl close to his nose. It smelled suspiciously normal.

“I feel like my cooking skills should be insulted,” Nick said.

“You have cooking skills?” Newt questioned mildly.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Alby, should we make a rule that if you insult the chef, you don’t get food?”

“It seems only fair,” Alby said. Nick threw Newt a satisfied smirk.

Newt cautiously stirred his stew. While he was glad that Nick and Alby finally got along—running with the same person for several hours in a day tends to have that effect—Newt would rather not deal with them attempting to gang up on him. He really needed Minho to magically appear to even out their potential teams and a cursory glance showed no sign of the tan boy. Newt bit back an irritated sigh. Minho had been vanishing more and more of late. He really wished the shank would get out of his funk and join the rest of them. The fact he mainly saw Minho in the Maze and before bed irritated him more than he was willing to admit. And the niggling sense of worry didn’t help matters. “I will bloody starve if I want to.”

“Seems like the mature way to handle it,” Alby said dryly, glancing up at Newt from where he was lounging under the massive pine tree by the Homestead.

“I’m the epitome of maturity,” Newt reassured him. Alby rolled his eyes. “I actually showed up for dinner so I deserve to take my time eating it.”

“Where do you think the others are?” Nick asked. “We eat at the same time every day. Minho always comes later, but where are George and Gally?”

“Gally is really project-driven. He’s probably forcing George to help him finish the Runner’s hut,” Alby said.

“How is the hut looking?” Newt asked.

“A lot better than I thought it would considering George was involved,” Alby said. “Gally is a surprisingly good builder.”

Nick hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe we can talk to him about the expansion of the Homestead. It’ll get shucking cramped when the new greenie shows up in a few days.”

“Some of us could always sleep outside,” Newt said. “I’m sure we could trick Georgie into volunteering.”

“Volunteering for what?”

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Alby said. “Eat stew.”

Minho wordlessly took the proffered soup from Nick’s hand. He glanced at the other Gladers. “Volunteer for what?” he repeated.

“We’re going to get Georgie to sleep outside to save space,” Newt stated. “Maybe Gally too...Say it’s a part of initiation.”

“He might try to run off in the Maze if we leave him unsupervised. He’s been eyeing the Maze since day one,” Minho said, scrunching his nose as he slurped his stew. “What’s in this?”

“Run off in the Maze? Should we be worried?” Nick asked. Newt wasn’t an idiot. He knew Nick and Minho didn’t get along. Fortunately, there was a recent development in their relationship so they could manage civilized conversations with each other. He had no idea how long that would last. Whatever the problem, they really needed to get over it. It was bloody annoying. Newt was tempted to coerce Alby into helping him lock Minho and Nick in the Box or Homestead together. He would probably consult Georgie as well.

Minho shrugged. “Probably not. I’ll just take him out in the Maze at some point. We could use his enthusiasm and turn him into a Runner.”

“Let’s see how good he is at memorization first,” Nick cautioned.

“Nobody is great when they first start,” Alby said. “The greenie will learn.”

“Yeah, Minho and I literally used chalk to help us at first,” Newt said.

Nick frowned. “Really?”

“It worked,” Minho said, smirking at Newt. Newt grinned, lazily kicking a rock towards Minho. The tan boy raised an eyebrow challengingly.

“We should check on George and Gally,” Nick said suddenly.

“I’ll go,” Newt offered, setting down his bowl.

“No, no,” Alby said easily. “I finished eating, so I’ll go so you don’t have to leave behind your stew.”

“That’s considerate of you,” Minho said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Newt drawled, picking up his bowl. “Really I can’t—”

A scream pierced the air.

“What the sh—” Minho started, breaking off when Alby gripped his arm. His eyes widened when he followed Alby’s point towards the forest. The greenie was sobbing, limping as he dragged a limp body behind him. A limp, bloody body.

“Is that Gally and George?” Newt asked in horror.

A sob ripped through the air.

“Shuck,” Nick cursed, sprinting towards the battered pair. The other boys were close behind.

“What bloody happened?” Newt shouted as he skidded beside Gally.

Minho yanked Gally roughly towards him, ignoring Alby’s curse as George’s limp body collapsed on the ground. He absently saw Newt and Alby lean over George. “What did you shucking do, greenie?”

“Slim it, slinthead,” Nick snapped. “Gally carried George over here.”

Minho’s eyes narrowed, his hands tightening around on Gally’s shirt. “And how do you shucking think George got like that?”

“Gally wouldn’t do that,” Nick protested.

“Yeah? Let the slinthead talk for himself,” Minho snarled. “Go on, greenie. Tell us what shucking happened.” Only then did Minho actually look at Gally, taking in his tear-stained face. The greenie blubbered, snot and tears mixing as he swiped his hand under his nose.

“W-we went out in the Maze,” Gally whimpered.

Nick’s face froze. “What?”

“We were in the Maze,” Gally said hurriedly. “It was my idea, George was against it. Just when we were coming back...It happened so fast.”

Minho shoved Gally to the ground. “No _klunk_.”

“Explain,” Alby ordered, his voice wavering as he leaned over George’s prone body. Minho blinked as his eyes flickered over George. He was ashen under his tan, blood and dirt smeared across his face.  His clothes, the freshly cleaned clothes George had been so smug about—Minho remembered George rambling how his washed shirt reminded him of lilies—was shredded, mangled so it hung loosely from his body. Minho bit back bile. The tattered clothing revealed a huge, pulsing gash as it coated Newt’s trembling hands in red. George’s pale chest rose shallowly. How was he alive? Thank shuck, but how?

“W-we were turning back,” Gally sniveled from the ground, his eyes shining. “We could see the Door. We were just joking around. H-he was _laughing_ even...Then it came. I didn’t see it. George didn’t let me. He pushed me towards the Glade...B-but I _heard_ it. I heard the Griever.”

Newt grew impossibly paler. “A Griever? So close to the Glade?”

“Apparently,” Gally said bitterly, swiping his hand roughly across his face. “We were running. He was right behind me. I could hear his breathing. I could hear his footsteps. But then...Everything got so loud. The Griever was screeching and gurgling. It was close. _Really_ close. But we kept running. We were running together until we weren’t.”

“What the shuck is that supposed to mean?” Minho snapped.

Gally’s eyes flashed. “Exactly what it sounds like. We were running. Together. But then there was a scream. George was yelling at me to keep going. And I did...until I heard another shout. I turned back but I was too shucking late. George was on the ground, shucking bleeding to death and it’s all my fault.”

The Glade fell silent, the Gladers staring as Gally’s brave-face slowly wavered into a crestfallen expression. His sobs echoed in the Glade. Nick stared mutedly at George, seeming unable to grasp what happened. Minho could relate. The ginger had been grinning, laughing, so full of shucking _life_ this morning. His bright image directly contrasted the ashen body under stark red hair. There was red everywhere. His clothes were soaked. Alby’s hands hovered useless around George, still uncertain how to aid his dying friend and Newt...Newt looked pissed.

“You bloody shank,” Newt hissed. Gally scrambled away from Newt’s glistening, red hands. “There’s a bloody reason we have those rules. Look what you did to Georgie. _Look_ at him. You bloody, incompetent—”

“Newt,” Nick interrupted, snapping out of his daze to step towards Gally, “calm down.”

“No, I’m not going to _bloody_ calm down.”

Minho shoved Nick. “The shucking greenie—”

“We can’t shucking—” Nick began, swatting Minho’s hands away.

“You’re bloody _killing_ George,” Newt snarled. “We have three rules. _Three_ rules—”

“We can actually,” Minho said. “He has to shucking learn. Look at what he did. Look at—”

“—can’t be that difficult to remember all of them, can it?” Newt asked, leering over Gally.

“—so what do you propose we do? Kill him?” Nick spat. “Don’t look so shocked, Minho. In for a penn—”

“We’re not shucking killing anyone!” Alby yelled, rising from his perch by George.

“Want to know what else the rules forbid us to do?” Newt mused, focused solely on Gally’s horrified, tearstained face.

“It’s all fair, isn’t it?” Nick taunted. “That’s what you want, Minho. To have justice. To have—”

“Never hurt another Glader,” Newt said. “Course, I know you beat me to that—”

“You’re shucking sick,” Minho snapped. “What makes you—”

“But why not just shuck all the bloody rules,” Newt said. “You bloody—”

“—day one you’ve been—”

“—worthless—”

“—don’t turn this on me, slintface.”

“—shucking pathetic—”

“—why would it ever shucking be your fau—”

An ear-shattering scream ripped through the Glade.

The Gladers froze. Newt slowly turned his head towards the source of the sound while Minho and Nick jerked away from each other. George was sitting up. The injured ginger’s heaving breath penetrated the shocked—relieved—silence. He let out a gurgling groan as he pressed a hand on his wound.

“George!” Alby cried, throwing himself the few feet to lean over George’s rising body. “Don’t move too much. We’ll find some canvas to bandage you up. I know it’s not the most—”

No flash of recognition flashed in George’s eyes as he fully sat up. Alby flinched back as the ginger ran his glazed eyes over him.

“George?” Gally asked hesitantly.

Gally’s voice snapped something in George. Another wail echoed off the Maze walls.

“George, where does it hurt?” Minho asked, hesitantly stepping forward. Nick moved out of the tan boy’s path.

The ginger screamed, froth beginning to bubble at his mouth. His eyes flickered around wildly. They settled on Newt.

George gave a demonic grin. “Flaring rage that one. Don’t need it. You don’t need it.” George flung himself at Newt with a shriek. Gally rolled to the side to avoid Newt’s falling body.

“Get off me,” Newt yelled, attempting to fend off George’s flailing attacks. “Georgie, this isn’t you.”

“Don’t need it, don’t need it,” George screeched as he swatted at Newt’s head.

Minho and Alby tugged at George’s thrashing limbs to no result. George clawed across Newt’s face. Newt shrieked as blood appeared across his face. Nick yanked at George’s legs, causing the ginger to snarl and struggle against their restraints. White foam spewed from his mouth as he twisted away from their hold.

The ginger was out of control.

Nick grunted as George’s foot connected to his face. The dark-haired boy tumbled on the ground. George gave a triumphant yell, lunging forward with renewed vigor.

“Shuck he’s strong,” Alby said. “We need to get him on his back.”

“Shuck,” Minho grunted. “Okay.”

George screamed, foam hitting Newt’s face as the other boy struggled to push George off him. The ginger didn’t stop screaming.

A fist shot up and struck George across the face. George blinked dazedly.

Newt glanced at the greenie before lashing out, kicking George off him. Minho and Alby threw George to the ground and began dragging him towards the forest.

“Where are we taking him?” Minho gasped, glancing behind to see a panting Gally yank Newt off the ground.

 “Forest,” Alby said shortly.

“I can see that,” Minho snapped.

“We need rope,” Alby shouted over his shoulder.

“What are we doing?”

“Tying George up until we figure out what the shuck to do.”

Minho nodded, heaving George towards the closest tree. They both froze as George began weakly struggling against them.

“Shuck,” Alby muttered. “Now! I need the rope now!”

Pounding footsteps came behind them.

“Here,” Newt said, shoving rope towards Minho. Gally wordlessly took Minho’s place in restraining George against the tree. Nick squatted on the other side of George and hastily tied another rope around his legs. Minho and Nick worked around each other until George was stiff against the tree.

The ginger’s eyes flew wide. George screamed and thrashed against the tree. But to no avail. The binding held.

“Thank shuck,” Nick breathed. Alby nodded, clapping a hand over Nick’s shoulder.

“What do we do?” Gally asked quietly, staring at the crazed George.

Minho followed Gally’s gaze with a grimace. George was frothing at the mouth. He looked nothing like their friend. “He’s not himself.”

“But he has to be,” Newt said, four lines streaked across his face. He wiped blood away from his eyes hastily. “That’s still George...Right?”

“George’s mind is gone,” Alby said. “He doesn’t recognize anything.”

“Maybe he’ll get better,” Nick said doubtfully.

“He could,” Newt protested.

Minho pursed his lips. “What do we do?”

“We...” Nick gnawed his lip. “If only there was a way to ensure George was sane.”

“We could try reasoning with him,” Alby said.

Minho watched as George spat foam out his mouth. “How?”

“Maybe we should wait a day,” Gally suggested. “We don’t know what’s happening or how long this will last.”

“Exactly,” Newt agreed, “who knows what the Grievers did to him. The Creators probably made the Grievers too. They wouldn’t want to kill us.”

“They stuck us in the middle of a Maze,” Minho said. “I doubt our wellbeing is their number one priority.”

Newt glared at Minho briefly before quickly looking away with a grimace. “What else are we supposed to do?”

“Let’s talk to him,” Nick said. “Maybe we’ll spark something.”

“Worth a shot,” Minho shrugged. The Gladers studied George. The ginger strained against his bonds, attempting to wretch his mouth towards his arm.

Alby stepped forward. “George, George are you there?”

George jerked towards the sound.

“This isn’t you,” Minho said. “You would never harm somebody.”

“Georgie,” Newt said quietly. George’s eyes followed Newt, transfixed, “I swear just give us some type of sign that you’re there.”

George spat foam at them.

“George, come on,” Nick pleaded. “Anything.”

“Please,” Gally whispered.

The Gladers stared as George’s eyes flickered around their semi-circle. His eyes sparkled. Minho leaned forward. Maybe. Just Maybe.

George let out a blood curdling scream.

Gally broke down to the ground, sobbing.

“Newt, could you take Gally to the Homestead?” Nick asked gently.

Newt gave the other Glader a hard stare, but complied. He heaved Gally off the ground wordlessly and hauled him away. The blond leaned heavily on the other boy.

“George isn’t sane,” Nick said as soon as Newt and Gally staggered out of hearing distance.

Minho nodded. “We need to do something.”

“Shuck,” Alby breathed, “he’s probably in pain. Look at him. If we don’t move him from that tree he’ll bleed out.”

Minho and Nick traded glances, apparently on the same wavelength. Minho felt nauseous. He quickly looked away, refusing to meet Alby’s eyes, refusing to even look George’s direction. Shucking hell.

Alby gasped. He stared between them in shock. “No. No.”

“Alby...” Minho started.

“We’re not leaving him here.”

Minho flinched. “He’s going to attack us.” The words hurt leaving his mouth. He felt like an iron fist was gripping his throat. He coughed uncomfortably. Shuck. George...you don’t deserve this. He blinked rapidly. Nobody deserved this.

“He’s not himself,” Nick said. “We’re not equipped to deal with him, with this.”

“We’re not going to just leave him here to bleed out,” Alby said stubbornly.

“What do you propose we do then?” Nick snapped. “I want George to get better. I do! But say we release him and try to heal his stomach gash and shuck knows what else. He’s a loose cannon. We cannot have him in the Glade. You saw what he did to Newt. We couldn’t restrain him when it was three against one. What the shuck makes you think we can handle a George wandering the Glade?”

Alby sucked in a breath. He stared up determinedly. “We’re not going to leave him here.”

“Alby...” Minho said uncertainly as he watched the dark-skinned boy stalked away. “Alby!”

Nick ran his hand over his face. “Shuck I hate this.”

“Is there really no other way?” Minho asked quietly. He looked at George. His friend was unrecognizable. Fury replaced his laugh lines, snarls replaced his smiles, wails replaced his laughter. George...Minho thought they had more time. He thought all of them had more time.

“You shucking saw what he did to Newt’s face,” Nick said, “and that was in ten seconds. We can’t control him.”

“But, he’s _George_.”

Nick faced him sharply. “I know that. _You_ know that. I sent Newt away because he wouldn’t be able to make the tough decision. You’re making me think I made the wrong choice. Can you handle being here?”

“I can shucking handle being here,” Minho snapped. His voice cracked. “Don’t be such a manipulative slinthead.”

“I don’t know how to make this better,” Nick said, his shoulders slumping, all fight leaving him. “I tried to do damage control, but it’s not like it made a shucking difference.”

“It’s just...George.”

“We don’t know if George will get better,” Nick said quietly.

Minho pressed his palms against his eyes. “Shuck this situation.”

“Shuck everything.”

A rustling behind Minho made him turn. He blinked. “Alby? What are you doing?”

“We’re not going to let George die on a tree.”

Nick eyed Alby’s spear, the dark boy’s expression stiff. Minho gulped, wanting to deny the twisted image in front of him. His stomach churned. It was better than what he and Nick had been willing to do. George deserved better than dying on a tree. He deserved to live outside of the Maze. Out of all of them, George was the most deserving of freedom. Yet here he was tied up. Struggling against the ropes, fighting to survive. Even insane, George knew what was coming.

“Who’s going to do it?” Nick murmured.

Alby glanced away. “I’m not going to force you guys to do it. Just...just know that I love George. I would never—”

“We know,” Minho interrupted. Tears were streaming down Alby’s face. Minho nodded, feeling pressure build up behind his eyes. He bit his lip as tears spilled over.

“I wish I could do better,” Alby whispered, stepping towards George. “George, I promise I’ll do better next time.”

Foam dripped from George’s gaping mouth as he screamed. His screams filled the Glade until Alby thrust his spear forward, the metal tip glimmering for a second in the moonlight.

The Glade went silent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a short comic Wes Ball (the Maze Runner director) and T.S. Nowlin (a Maze Runner writer) showed at the San Diego ComicCon. I was not there, unfortunately, but the internet is a wonderful place and I found a short synopsis. The comic is Alby talking to a crazed George and stabbing him with a spear when it becomes apparent George has gone insane from the Griever sting, which I thought was an interesting concept. So hope you enjoyed it? RIP George. I liked you and you will be missed...


	9. Gotta Go My Own Way

The fire crackled outside. It made everything almost seem normal.

Gally rolled in his hammock, turning towards the Homestead’s thin wall, spying the flickering flames between the cracks. The other Gladers were staring listlessly at the fire, save Newt who hadn’t stopped moving since he dropped Gally in a hammock and sprinted away when the screaming abruptly stopped. Newt, whether it was through impractical hope or sick fear, had to investigate. But Gally knew. As soon as the scream cut off Gally knew. George was dead.

And Gally killed him.

He sobbed until his throat was raw.

The other Gladers came back at an unspecified time, but no one entered the Homestead. Gally was grateful for the small miracle. He had no idea how he would react to the other Gladers at the moment. He would either break down in tears—again—or attack them. And he wasn’t sure if this situation exempted him from the second rule. He felt hollow, fragile. The last time he felt even remotely vulnerable, George had been the only one—

Gally sucked in a breath, pain stabbing through his chest.

The shucking rules. Why hadn’t he followed the shucking rules? There are only three of them. Not that hard to remember, Newt’s voice taunted.

He just had to go into the Maze, didn’t he? Force— _guilt_ —George into showing him. George was reluctant. And for a good shucking reason. They didn’t understand the shucking Maze. Not even Minho and Newt, and they went into the Maze the most out of all of them. Anything could shucking happen. It was dangerous, unpredictable, _deadly_.

“I can’t bloody believe you,” Newt muttered. Gally gnawed his lip. He had no idea who Newt was directing that to. He swallowed his rising guilt. They wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for him. George would be giggling by the fire, mock-gagging over Nick’s cooking if it weren’t for him. A bitter taste invaded his mouth. They should have shucking finished the hut and then ate, as planned.

“We had to,” Nick murmured.

“You did not bloody _have_ to.”

"You weren’t there—” Alby started. Gally closed his eyes. No, they weren’t there. And he was the confusing mixture of grateful and furious. Newt was just the latter.

“Exactly!” Newt yelled. “I wasn’t there. I was sent away. So quit acting bloody self-righteous. I shucking wanted you guys to wait because we didn’t know how the Griever sting affected Georgie, but no. You couldn’t have someone disagree so you sent me away. Like a bloody dog. What gave you the right to decide something like that?  Who bloody died and made you leader?”

“I didn’t...” Nick began hesitantly.

“Don’t play innocent,” Newt spat. “Because I didn’t agree with your bloody decision you sent me away with the greenie. Kill two birds with one stone, right? The two Gladers who would shucking protest murdering George immediately just had to—”

“We didn’t shucking murder George,” Alby snapped. Gally blinked. Alby rarely raised his voice.

“Shucking looks like it from over here,” Newt retorted.

“He was insane and dangerous,” Nick insisted. “You know what he did to your face.”

“I’m aware,” Newt drawled. “A few cuts. Big bloody deal. I’ll survive and live another shucking day. Georgie won’t.”

“He was _dying_. We completely ignored his stomach wound. I’m not a shucking medic, but those are hard to come back from even if the person isn’t trying to harm everyone, including himself,” Alby faltered, fight leaving his stance. “W-we put him out of his misery.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to decide that without me. I wasn’t even aware that option was in serious consideration,” Newt hissed.

“It’s not like we were planning it,” Alby protested.

Newt scoffed.

“We weren’t,” Nick insisted.

“Really?” Newt said. “You want me to believe that as soon as I left you didn’t instantly start discussing how to deal with Georgie.”

“Of course we did,” Nick snapped. “It was kind of a big deal. Time was of the essence. We weren’t just going to twiddle our thumbs until you got back while we watched George suffer.”

“Get off your bloody high horse. I don’t _care_ that you were discussing Georgie. I would have shucking talked about Georgie. I bloody care that you decided to kill him before telling me! Or the shucking greenie.” Gally snorted. He was clearly an afterthought. He and Newt might be on the same boat, currently, but he knew the other Glader still blamed him for George. Shuck, Gally blamed himself for that. Gally leaned his head against his hammock, refusing to let his eyes drift to George’s adjacent hammock. The ginger always snored. He swallowed thickly. “Why should we all have equal say in here?”

“What? You wanted us to put it to a shucking vote?” Minho interrupted, glancing up from the fire for the first time. “What do you think would have changed, Newt? You wouldn’t have saved George. Do you think you’re the only one that wants George alive? You’re _not._ ”

The fire cackled. Gally squinted but the other Gladers’ expressions were obscured by shadows.

“I know I’m bloody not,” Newt muttered after a beat.

Minho snorted. “You have a shucked up way of showing it. Stop acting like a shank.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Newt spat, “that I’m so bloody _affected_ by Georgie’s death. Should I act more like you?”

“What the shuck is that supposed to mean?”

“‘Indifferent’ sums it up quite nicely.”

Gally jumped as the Homestead wall shuddered under a sudden slam. Alby was half-heartedly calling for Minho to put Newt down.

“Nobody wanted George to die, Newt,” Minho snarled. “Why is that so hard for you to wrap your shucking head around?”

“Probably because he’s dead,” Newt said softly. “I was gone for five minutes and I came back to George’s corpse. What am I _supposed_ to think?”

“You weren’t there,” Minho hissed. “You have _no idea_ what—”

“What?” Newt interrupted. “What didn’t I know? I was gone for five _bloody_ minutes. _What_ could possibly happen in five minutes that completely changed everything?”

“It’s not my fault you refuse to face the facts. You think time would heal George? You would’ve killed him. He was dying from his stomach wound. George was dying and you were too thick to see it. Let’s say his mad-spell did vanish. He still wouldn’t have enough blood to function.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Neither do you.”

“Tell me one thing then, Minho,” Newt interjected bitterly. “What specifically inspired the decision to kill George? What did he do? What was the straw that broke the camel’s back?”

“He wasn’t getting better,” Minho stated.

“Do you think if you say that enough, it’ll come true?”

A thud resounded through the wall. Newt swore and instantly jerked away from the wall, the flames burning a bright yellow, illuminating the furious boys. Minho grunted as Newt tackled him to the hard ground. The other Gladers cursed as Minho and Newt changed into a flurry of limbs, punches and kicks finding a target in the chaos. Gally smirked when he heard someone—Newt?—cry out after a particularly loud crunch.

“Stop fighting,” Alby grunted. Gally squinted, watching Alby and Nick pry the wrestling boys off each other. “We still have shucking rules.”

“Do we?” Newt spat.

“Shuck off,” Minho snapped, glaring at Newt.

“Yes,” Alby said firmly, “never hurt another Glader.”

 “So that rule is relevant now?” Newt drawled.

“That was different,” Alby said furiously.

“How?”

“We’ve shucking been through this,” Minho said.

“Sorry for not wrapping my head around it in a timely manner,” Newt retorted, shaking off Nick’s arms. “Just shuck everything. Shuck you.”

“Where are you going?” Nick called to Newt’s retreating form.

“Why do you bloody care?”

A log in the fire collapsed, burning ashes bursting from the fire pit.

“Shuck,” Nick swore.

“What? Didn’t expect backlash?” Minho leered.

“Slim it, slinthead,” Nick retorted. “Your opinions are not necessary.”

“Do I shucking look like I care what you think?”

“You going to yell at me about George too?”

Minho snorted. “Quit acting like such a shucking martyr. You weren’t the only one attacked tonight. You weren’t the only one there when we killed George.”

Nick flinched, glaring furiously at Minho. “Sorry I didn’t suf—”

“Just shucking shut it,” Minho snapped. “I’m not dealing with your self-righteous klunk, especially not tonight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Take a shucking wild guess.”

“I’m not going to let you think that—”

“Get over yourself,” Minho interrupted, pushing past Nick. He faltered mid-trek towards the forest. He glanced back at the fire. “Don’t talk to me at the funeral tomorrow.”

“What shucking made him so pissy?” Nick muttered, glaring at the spot Minho vanished.

Alby poked the neglected fire absently. “Gee, I wonder.”

“Slim it.”

“What did you expect from such a stupid question? George is dead. We killed him.”

Nick mumbled something under his breath. Gally watched as Alby stiffened in the low light. He rose slowly, looming over Nick.

“Repeat that, shank?”

Nick stood, using his few inch advantage to leer over Alby. “Not plural, singular. You.”

“We all killed George, shuckface,” Alby snarled. “The fact you didn’t hold the spear, doesn’t make you any less guilty. The blood is on your hands too.”

“Geor—”

Nick’s response was cut off by a sudden movement. He sucked in a wavering breath. Gally’s eyes widened. Alby was choking Nick. With one hand. The dark-skinned boy brought Nick’s face inches from his own.

 “You and Minho shucking wanted to leave him tied to a shucking tree and make him bleed to death,” Alby said leisurely. “So yes, I speared George. I speared him because I didn’t want him to suffer. I have something called shucking compassion. You should try it sometime.”

Nick collapsed next to the fire when Alby released him, wheezing as a disgusted Alby stalked away. Gally stared at the lone Glader before turning to study the ceiling.

Tomorrow was going to be fun.

Gally swallowed. Alby speared George because of him.

George’s laughter would no longer echo throughout the Glade because of him.

Gally should feel sick or sad or angry or _something_. Instead, he felt hollow. Guilty and hollow. He knew George was dead. He _knew_ his friend would never kick him out of bed in an effort to wake him up because “morning Gally scared him” and he wanted to maintain his distance. Or pester him to prank Alby. Or distract from work. Or hinder more than help a project. Or ramble about the importance of hygiene. He _knew_ that. He shucking _saw_ George’s corpse—before retching the remnants of lunch. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that the ginger would waltz through the Homestead doors with his contagious grin firmly in place and scolding Gally for being antisocial.

Gally twisted his lips. He should be sobbing. Again. He should be doing _something._ George was his only friend in this hellhole and Gally couldn’t shucking do more than an extended sobfest. He took George’s life with a rash decision and couldn’t give George a single shucking thing. All Gally accomplished was furthering the tension among all the Gladers.

And George hated strife in the Glade.

George just wanted everyone to work together and be happy. He didn’t want much. He never asked for much.

_Stop being difficult and hug me, shank._

Gally cringed at the abrupt memory before blinking rapidly.

The shucking last thing George asked. And Gally had to be a shank and say no. George loved physical contact.

 And Gally denied him before George sacrificed himself to the Griever.

The blond pressed his fists in his eyes, trying to prevent hot tears from streaming down his face. Apparently George was getting another breakdown. And, of course, tears made everything better. Gally was disgusted with himself. He was so shucking useless.

He should have never gone in the Maze.

They had three shucking rules. Three. They were shucking common sense. And yet...

_Stop being difficult and hug me, shank._

Gally fell into a fitful sleep, George’s voice and laughter echoing in his head.

There were three shucking rules. They were made for a reason.

_Stop being difficult and hug me, shank._

* * *

 

Minho eyed the confused greenie. The dark-skinned boy’s eyes kept flickering around the group. He was handling everything quite well in all honesty, especially considering Nick dumped the greenie on an irritable Gally. Course, who wasn’t shucking on a short fuse today?

Minho left the half-built running hut a few hours before noon. Newt was slaving over the gardens, ignoring Minho and the world at large. Alby was repairing the Homestead roof, whether the roof needed to be repaired on not was debatable. Nick was somewhere. Minho didn’t shucking care where.

Everyone was avoiding everyone. Everyone needed shucking time alone. Minho didn’t know if he wanted to lash out or be comforted. He settled for being pissed off and miserable. It was working out for him.

Until the bell echoed throughout the Glade.

The Gladers looked up in unison. Right. The Box. And a new Glader. What fan-shucking-tastic timing.

Minho watched as Nick appeared, dragging a cross Gally towards the Box. Newt froze before throwing a weed behind him as he stood to help unload the Box. Alby hesitated and then followed suit, his careless jump off the roof making Minho forcibly swallow his yell. Shuck, Minho wasn’t dealing with this. Things were too tense to be normal. He didn’t want to deal with people. Sparing a glance at Newt, who frowned at him with bruised eyes and a scratched face, Minho turned towards the forest. George’s funeral was today. He had no idea how they were doing it. No one did.

But Minho knew there was something he needed. Something George would want. So to the forest. Minho still needed to put the final touches on it.

By the time Minho forced himself to George’s grave, which was unanimously decided would be in the small forest near the East Door, a dirt-covered Newt and Alby were leaning against some nearby trees, two shovels pitted in the fresh dirt pile. Minho eyed the large piece of canvas nearby. He forced himself to ignore the limp hand peeking out of the white fabric. George...

Newt’s gaze flickered towards the wrapped object in Minho’s hand, an unspoken question in his eyes.

Minho didn’t answer.

The awkward silence continued to stretch by George’s grave.

George would be appalled.

Alby opened his mouth a few times but could never seem to find the words. Minho and Newt remained unhelpfully silent, everyone avoiding eye contact.

Crunching grass announced the rest of the Glader’s approach. Minho met Nick’s gaze fleetingly before looking over Gally and the new greenie. The greenie was confused and angry. Of course, that seems to be the general reaction when one enters the Glade. Plus his welcome was klunk. The greenie looked at Minho with interest. He belatedly realized that this was their first time meeting. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than stare disinterestedly and shift his gaze back to George’s canvas-covered body.

The silence was overwhelming.

Nick coughed. “So, we’re here—”

“Slim it,” Minho interrupted. Nick’s voice was jarring. Jarring and awkward. It felt forced. Minho didn’t like it. “You’re not shucking talking.”

“What the shuck makes you think that you can—”

“Just stop,” Newt said tiredly. Nick slowly closed his mouth at Newt’s defeated expression. “We’re not bloody fighting. Not tonight. For Georgie’s sake...”

Minho felt blood rush to his face. What the shuck is the matter with him? George wouldn’t want this. To be fair, George wouldn’t want to be dead either but that was already royally shucked up.

He shut his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. Not again.

Alby cleared his throat awkwardly.  “George was great. His was the third Glader to leave the Box and the first of us to make us work like a team. He broke down all our barriers. He genuinely cared about everyone. I-it was really great. He kept up moral. Whenever I felt down, George always seemed to know and he’d go out of his way to make me feel hope again. George just...never stopped believing, not in us, not in our eventual escape, not in anything. He was constantly optimistic. He w-will be missed—is missed. And we gather here to bury the first Glader who fell, the strongest Glader of us all—George.”

Minho didn’t stare when Alby’s tears began to trickle down his face near the beginning of his speech because that would draw attention to his own wet eyes. Someone sniffed. A quick glance confirmed everyone was teary-eyed. Except the greenie, who solemnly stared down at the ground as if to give them privacy. 

“Guys?” Newt murmured, nodding towards George’s corpse. They wordlessly nodded and Alby, Minho, Nick, and Gally helped Newt gently lower George’s body into the crude hole. Nick removed the canvas. The greenie’s gasp went ignored. George’s face was wrangled into a wild, leering grin. Blood still splattered his body and foam had long since dried and flacked on his chin. His shirt was pasted to his chest, the light blue material stained dark brown and maroon. George’s eyes were glassy as they dully reflected the sky. He looked nothing like himself. Minho grimaced as Newt carefully reached out and shut George’s eyes.

Nick nudged Gally. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Gally’s tense, teary face relaxed a fraction as he took the shovel from Nick’s extended hand. Newt pursed his lips before grabbing the other shovel and handing it to Alby.

“I—I have something,” Minho said. The Gladers froze. “For George. Just...he would want it.”

Minho didn’t realize he froze until Alby nodded at him. Minho felt his feet move, his shoulders stiff as stares bore into his back. He slouched down, kneeling next to George.

“You deserve so much more,” he whispered, but his voice carried in the silent Glade. “But I’m glad you’re finally free from this hellhole. Even though it’s not in the way anybody wanted.” He gentled put a smooth piece of wood in George’s hand, grimacing at George’s cold, heavy limbs. The thin block of wood was adorned with ‘George: Glade’s Best PC, From Box à To Always.’ Minho refused to meet anyone’s eyes. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood up. “No one can replace you.”

Gally wordless shoveled the first pile of dirt of George. Alby and Gally were silent as they filled up George’s grave. Minho watched as George’s twisted face slowly disappeared under the scattering dirt. He should look away. He didn’t want to remember George this way. He wanted to remember the teasing, the listening, the ramblings, the sleepy mumbles. But Minho had to watch. George was a memory. A devastating memory. And Minho wouldn’t forget a single detail.

He didn’t realize he was shaking until a hand enveloped his.

Minho jerked up and stared at Newt. Newt refused to meet his gaze. He studied the other Glader. The etched red marks vivid across his face, black blooming under his eyes, nose swollen—he looked like he went through a shucking warzone. Or a really klunk night. The Glade has been a shucking mess. He didn’t know how they were going to get back to normal. Or if they ever would. Minho gently ran his thumb over Newt’s knuckles. Newt’s face softened. The paler boy squeezed Minho’s hand before letting go. Minho crossed his arms, refusing to think about Newt’s phantom hand wrapped around his.

Alby passed Nick his shovel. The dark-skinned Glader reached under a tree and grabbed a piece of wood with “George” crudely carved on it. He hammered the post at the head of George’s grave, his sign tilting slightly in the dirt.

“You will be missed,” Alby murmured.

“To the first Glader who fell,” Nick said. “You will always live on in our memories.”

“The best Glader,” Minho mumbled.

“My friend,” Gally said.

Newt stared at George’s grave. “Bye, Georgie.”

The Gladers turned from George, leaving behind his body, walking towards the Homestead. They were going to move past this pain. Eventually the throbbing wound will turn into a dull ache. Hopefully.

Minho glanced back. George’s tilted sign cast a shadow over the fresh dirt. The wind trickled through the Glade, chiming against some hanging tools.

His chest ached.

He forced himself to move forward.

Good-bye, George. Wish you were here.

 


End file.
